


The Highs and Lows of Living

by killeleanor



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alive Cole Anderson, Alternate Universe - Human, Elijah Kamski is Weird, Hank and Connor are in love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, and not just his dead son's best friend, and proves himself by becoming a capable detective so hank thinks of him as his own person, can u spot the obvious ace attorney reference, for a while, stake outs, teenage connor has a massive crush on hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killeleanor/pseuds/killeleanor
Summary: Connor hesitates.  Obviously he can’t tell Cole everything he was thinking about, but it wouldn’t be fair to brush him off completely; he’s only trying to help after all.  Although Connor is usually happy to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself and try to work through them on his own, he appreciates that sharing with others can be helpful in processing emotion and even new concepts.He inhales.“I…  I believe that I am attracted to men,” he hedges.  It’s not exactly true but it’s close enough.------Connor is in love with his best friend's dad.  When Cole dies, he has to put aside his crush so the two of them can heal, but as the years pass and Connor goes to college to become a detective like Hank, he realises his feelings are no longer unreciprocated.





	The Highs and Lows of Living

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo this has taken me literally months and is the longest thing I've ever written! The story starts when Connor is about fifteen but Hank has no romantic interest in him at all until he's overage.
> 
> Title taken from [I Am Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Zx6RXGNISk) by Three Days Grace.

“Good morning, Mr Anderson.”

Connor follows Cole in through the front door, Sumo in tow, tail wagging merrily.  It’s already 80 degrees outside so it made sense for Sumo to go out before the hottest part of the day; if he’s sweating his ass off in just shorts and a t-shirt, it must be worse for his dog.  He makes a mental note to refill his water bowl.

 “Hey, Connor.  What you guys up to today?”

 “Nothing special,” says Cole, removing Sumo’s leash and scratching behind his ears.  “Studying, maybe some video games.”

 “Studying, really?  When _I_ was fifteen, I was staying out all night getting wasted on a Saturday--”

 “By which he _means_ he was sleeping in till noon then playing Pokémon all night, right, Dad?” Cole interjects with a raised eyebrow.

 Hank notices Connor’s lips tilt up in amusement and rolls his eyes.

 “...whatever.”

 “We’re gonna go to my room; Connor’s some kind of mathematical savant but I have no idea.”

 Connor looks down, scratching at the back of his neck and flushing slightly, and there's something very endearing about the gesture that makes Hank want to smile too.  Cole nudges his friend encouragingly.

“Well, there’s juice in the fridge, there’s cereal…”  He gestures vaguely to the kitchen. “Knock yourselves out.”

Hank takes a beer bottle from the fridge and makes his way over to the sofa to watch TV; they’re broadcasting the Detroit Gears playing regionals in a couple of minutes.  Sumo pads over to sit at his feet, resting his chin in Hank’s lap and sighing contentedly. Hank hears the fridge open in the kitchen and the sofa dips beside him as Connor perches there.  He looks at the screen.

“Did you know this is only Denton Carter’s third professional basketball game?” Connor says.

Hank turns to look at him; he’s looking at his own clasped hands in his lap, hair falling into his eyes.  He’s gonna be fucking gorgeous when he grows into his features a bit more.

Connor continues.  “He skipped college, put everything on the line for basketball; he even played his first game the day after he turned eighteen, making him the youngest ever professional basketball player.”

Huh.  He didn’t know that.  He tells Connor.

“I’ve heard good things about him.  They think he’ll go far.”

Connor nods, cheeks rosy.

“Let’s go, Connor,” Cole says.  He has a bottle of soda under one arm and a bag of chips in the other.

Connor stands and looks down at Hank.

“Enjoy the game, Mr Anderson,” Connor smiles, turning to leave as Hank nods.

He’s glad Cole has a friend like him, polite, studious, a good influence.  The kid’s gonna be a real heartbreaker one day.

***

Cole is pretty sure his best friend is gay for his dad.  Okay, hear him out, he has some pretty compelling evidence; he couldn't be related to a cop if he didn't.

After his dad had met Connor a few times, he mentioned how shy his friend seemed.  This had puzzled Cole; Connor wasn't shy. Maybe a bit weird and introverted, but he didn't really have trouble speaking to people and was well-liked amongst his peers.  He couldn't even brush it off as Connor being shy around adults because he was happy to t his hand up in class and speak to the teachers, so why was he shy around his dad?

He's an observant kid and starts paying more attention after that.  He notices that Connor's responses are kinda strange when he tries to talk about girls; Cole will open up about his latest crush and say how pretty she is and ask Connor what _he_ thinks.

"Her face is very symmetrical," he might say.  Or, "her physique would be well-suited to ballet," which baffles Cole a bit, and though he brushes it off as being one of his friend's quirks, he does also wonder if Connor is interested in girls at all.

Connor hangs onto his every word when he talks about his dad.  He gets it; his dad’s a cool guy, always kicking ass and taking down drug rings.

“Did you see my dad on the news last night?” he’d said to Connor one time.  “He took out the main distributor of red ice almost single-handedly!”

When Connor came home with him after school and his dad retold the story with bits he’d not disclosed on TV, the way he’d looked at him reminded Cole of lovestruck girls in cheesy noughties sitcom reruns that were on TV at 2am; pupils blown, completely enraptured and unaware of anything else.  There had been other moments - Connor’s blushes whenever his dad praised Connor for doing well in a test, his inhale of breath when their fingers accidentally brushed when he handed his dad a beer - but that one had really nailed it home for Cole; he’d never seen his friend let his guard down like that.

As far as he could discern, his dad had no idea and Cole had no inclination to tell him; what would be the point?  He didn’t want to drive a wedge between Connor and his dad when nothing was going on between them and nothing would; he remembered emptying the trash can of finished bottles of spirits in the weeks after the Detroit Police Department had dismantled one of the largest paedophile rings in state history.  He’s sure Connor remembers too.

It doesn’t stop him from crying with laughter as he imagines Connor becoming his step-dad and the absurdity of it - he absolutely loses it picturing his best friend trying to ground him -  but as the months go by, the idea bothers him less and less. If it did happen, it would be years from now, and who knows what things will be like by then? Yeah, it probably won’t happen but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if it did.

***

Connor likes hanging out at Cole’s place.  There’s no expectation on him other than to pick up after himself and not be an asshole.  It’s not that he doesn’t like being at home - he’s grateful to Elijah for taking him in and he’s glad he wants him to do well - but sometimes it’s hard to relax.

While Connor loves hanging out with his best friend, there are other draws to being here, namely, his father.  It’s hard to remember a time when he wasn’t at least a little bit infatuated with Mr Anderson; maybe it started when he saw a photograph in a news article on Elijah’s discarded tablet, or maybe when Hank talked to them in middle school about staying out of trouble and not getting involved with red ice.  Connor had hung onto his every word, heart pounding in his chest without him even knowing why. And then when he’d befriended Cole in eighth grade and gone to his house for the first time only to see this guy walk in after work still in uniform, he’d had to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.  He hoped he was better at keeping his cool these days.

Does this mean he’s gay?  Does it even matter? It’s not like he’s really put much thought into it before, but has he ever had a crush on someone like this?  Would it matter what their gender was?

“Connor?  You there?”

Connor blinks a few times before meeting Cole’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Cole.  My attention was elsewhere.”

“Mine too, this is just completely going over my head.”  He gestures at the textbook in front of him before returning to look at his friend.  “That’s definitely not what was on your mind though.” His smile is kind; it always is.  “You wanna talk about it?”

Connor hesitates.  Obviously he can’t tell Cole everything he was thinking about, but it wouldn’t be fair to brush him off completely; he’s only trying to help after all.  Although Connor is usually happy to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself and try to work through them on his own, he appreciates that sharing with others can be helpful in processing emotion and even new concepts.

He inhales. 

“I…  I believe that I am attracted to men,” he hedges.  It’s not exactly true but it’s close enough.

“Huh,” Cole says.  He grins. “Dude, it’s 2032, it doesn’t bother me if you’re gay.”  He puts his hand on Connor’s shoulder and smiles warmly. “Dad’s bi, so who am I to judge?”  Some tiny, irrational part of Connor screams that maybe he has a chance but he stamps down on it instantly.  Cole’s speech becomes rapid as he gets excited. “How did you know? You got a crush on someone? Is it me? I’m sorry, dude, you know I like Karmen--”

“No!  No, it isn’t you.”

Cole raises his eyebrow and his smile turns smug.  “So there _is_ someone.”  Connor imagines his face is a brilliant shade of red by now.  “I’m the son of a detective; of course I’d figure out if you like someone.  The clues are all there. What’s he like?”

Connor thinks before he speaks.  “He’s older than me. He’s tall and strong and confident.”  There’s something thrilling about voicing his thoughts to Cole; it’s a relief to finally articulate them but he also has to be careful to not reveal too much.  “He’s intelligent and driven but also incredibly kind.”

“Sounds like a real catch, Connor.  Do I know him?”

Connor’s face flushes as he struggles to find the words but a knock on the door saves him.

Hank looks disgruntled as he steps into the room.  Connor’s heart seems to skip a beat, as it always does when he sees Hank; he takes in his casual slouch, strong arms crossed over his chest, blue eyes that he imagines linger on him.  Connor sits bolt upright and hopes no one can tell how much warmer he feels now.

“Hey guys.  Wanna go out for lunch?”

From the tone of his voice and the way he starts picking at his nails, Connor surmises that Hank’s preferred team has done badly.  The game must be over now - it’s been about two hours since he and Cole left the living room - and while he’s sad for Hank, his shoulders sag in relief at the change in conversation.

“Yeah!” Cole enthuses, pushing his textbook even farther away from himself.  “Connor and I were done studying anyway.”

“That would be great, Mr Anderson,” Connor agrees.

They stand and Connor makes to follow Hank out of the room but Cole’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Hey Connor…  This guy you like, be good to him, yeah?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just exits the room ahead of Connor and leaves him to wonder if he’s said too much.

***

Connor’s awoken by his phone vibrating on the bedside table at eight AM.  Elijah has brought him on a business trip to Paris (“It’s cultured,” he told him.  “You can learn a lot here.”); they’re staying in the new hotel at the top of the Eiffel tower.

Heart pounding with the adrenaline of being woken suddenly, he reaches for his phone.  Paris is six hours ahead of Detroit; why would Cole be calling him at two in the morning?

“Hello?” he answers cautiously.

“Connor.”

It’s Hank.  His voice sounds raw and cracked; Connor doesn’t have time to feel flustered that Hank has called him because something isn’t right.

“Is everything alright, Mr Anderson?”

“Heh.  Not really.”

He pauses for a number of seconds and Connor bites his lip to keep from asking.  He hears heavy breathing down the line, stifled sobs and it sets alarm bells ringing even more.  After a moment, Hank seems to compose himself and inhales deeply, speaking like he has rehearsed saying the words.

“Cole’s dead.”

Connor stops breathing.

***

He spends the next hour lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand.  He listened to Hank’s uncharacteristic sobs as he explained how he’d been picking Cole up from his mom’s place on the other side of the state, just coming off a late shift at work.  They were fifteen minutes from home when an eighteen-wheeler smashed into them. Hank came out mostly unscathed. Cole didn’t stand a chance.

His chest feels like it’s being crushed, throat burning like he’s never felt before.  What the hell is he doing in France? Why couldn’t he have stayed in Detroit, with Cole, been in at least the same continent as him when he passed away?  Maybe they would have been together, maybe this wouldn’t have happened, maybe Connor could have—

Thinking like this is useless.  He shakes himself. It’s almost impossible that just last week they were planning to dig out Hank’s old Playstation and spend the upcoming summer playing old video games together; Cole was way better at them than he was but they always had a blast.  No chance of that happening now. Connor hadn’t had many friends to begin with; what was he going to do now?

It’s too hard to process right now.  He throws off the covers and sits up, intending to shower and start his day, just do something until his brain can catch up with the reality of the situation.  Taking a deep breath to ground himself, he switches on the TV for some background noise before standing.

***

He breaks the news to Elijah over breakfast.  The mental image of Hank delivering the news, tears streaming down his face as he rips both of their worlds apart is the only thing Connor can think of.  Cole is gone and Hank has no one.

“I should go to him.”

“What can you do?  He’s dead. You can’t help him now.”

Elijah sips his black coffee, glancing at Connor before looking back to his tablet.  Connor rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to quell his racing thoughts.

“But Hank--”

What _about_ Hank?  It’s not like their relationship is such that he could just drop everything and go to him.  To Hank, Connor’s just his son’s best friend; although they’re close, Connor being there while everything is so raw would only be a hindrance.  And even though Connor’s only fifteen, he isn’t stupid. He can’t let his emotions get in the way of both of them grieving the brightest spark in their lives.

"Look, I have to go now.  I'll order you some Tullibardine and you can work this out."  He taps on his tablet a few times before standing and approaching Connor, placing a hand on his shoulder.  It's not enough but at least he's trying. "You'll get through this, Connor, and it will make you stronger."

Connor nods numbly and watches Elijah pick up his phone before leaving.

***

The sun is shining on the day Cole is laid to rest.  The amount of people in attendance is humbling; Connor had never really thought about how many people must have known and loved Cole and his family.  He’s never seen so many cops in one place, Hank’s colleagues who had watched Cole grow up through anecdotes and social media.

He joins the mourners lining up to offer their condolences to Cole’s parents, squinting against the bright sun, pondering what he might say.  He’d researched common funeral condolences online the night before, but couldn’t find any inspiration for what he wanted to say.

As he nears the front of the line, he sees Hank and Cole’s mom standing side by side, not close enough to touch.  He hasn’t met Cole’s mother before, doesn’t know that much about her apart from Cole went to visit her every now and then.  She looks like Cole, Connor thinks, but emits none of the warmth and light that he did, not even making eye contact with him as they shake hands.  He tries to be understanding though; this must be the worst day of her life.

He turns to Hank, who takes Connor’s outstretched hand between both of his.  He’s composed but has dark shadows under eyes that are slightly bloodshot; his face softens as he and Connor lock gazes.

“Glad you could make it, Connor.  Cole… Cole would have really appreciated it.  He cared about you a lot.”

His grip on Connor’s hand tightens and Connor brings up his other hand to return the gesture.  It vaguely registers that he’s never had such prolonged contact with Hank - or with anyone, for that matter - but today isn’t for him so he lets it go.

“I’m sorry, Mr Anderson.”

He’s thought and thought about what he’s going to say, what he could possibly say that would make things okay, but there’s nothing.  No words could make this better. His throat goes tight and he feels tears prick at his eyes but he forces them back; there will be time later.  Hank’s eyes widen momentarily. Connor shakes his head and steps back, letting their hands fall to their sides.

“Let’s talk later, okay?” Hank murmurs.

Connor nods, apologises to Hank and his ex-wife once more and steps away, letting the next person give their condolences.

He keeps mostly to himself for the duration of the wake, occasionally talking with some of Cole’s relatives and a few classmates; his school principal even approaches him to let him know she will give him any support he may need.  He thanks them as sincerely as he can but he can’t stop his attention from straying to Hank who’s trying so hard to hold on to his calm mask but as the day goes on, Connor can see the cracks. He stands next to his ex-wife but they don’t really talk - perhaps snap at each other on occasion - and Hank’s already stretched patience is only wearing thinner.

People trickle away gradually.  He calls a taxi while he watches Cole’s mom leave without saying goodbye.  Hank’s sitting down at a table with his head in his hands but he looks up as Connor approaches.  His eyes are bleary and there are several tumblers with ambery residue at the bottom. It surprises Connor that he's on his own, that no one's stayed beside him until the end of the night.  At least they've been buying him drinks.

“I’ve arranged transportation, Mr Anderson,” Connor says quietly.  “Let’s get you home.”

“Christsakes, Connor, we’ve just been through my son’s funeral,” he slurs.  “Call me Hank.”

“Yes, Hank.  Come on, let’s get some fresh air while we wait.”

Hank pushes his chair out from behind the table and stands, stumbling a little.  Connor leads the way out of the building, listening to Hank's uneven footfalls behind him.  It's nearly dark outside now; when he turns to look at Hank, the pale moonlight makes him a ghost of his former self.

It's quiet in the taxi.

When they disembark, Hank fumbles for his keys and Connor follows.  Sumo bounds up to him once they're inside, whining to be pet. He obliges, watching Hank make his way to the kitchen; he turns on the light and takes a seat at the table, staring into space.  Hank looks so fragile, like he could break at any minute; it makes Connor’s stomach churn, screaming at him to _do something_.

Determinedly, he follows after Hank, finding a clean glass in the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap.  He puts it down on the table.

“Hank.  You should drink this.  Then you should take off your suit and have a shower.”  He tries to sound confident and like he has even a vague idea of what he’s doing.

“You coming on to me, kid?” Hank laughs but there’s a hint of mania in it.

Connor ignores him.

“I’ll take Sumo out for a while.”

Connor picks up Sumo’s lead from where it’s draped over the back of another chair and lets the dog lead him to the back door.  He feels Hank’s eyes on him even after he’s closed the door behind him.

***

By the time Connor returns, Hank’s pulled himself together a bit.  It still feels like there’s a numb, gaping hole in his chest, but he’s washed away the day and feels better wearing flannel pants and his oldest Knights of the Black Death t-shirt.  Everything is so quiet; it’s a relief when Sumo pads over to him for a quick stroke before retreating to his bed. Connor returns the leash to its designated coat hook on the wall before standing awkwardly, one arm folded across his chest.  He’s gnawing on his lower lip, eyes constantly flicking to Hank like he wants to say something but can’t fathom where to start.

He’s been holding back all day, being strong and looking out for Hank’s miserable self.  It’s not fair; Connor should be able to cry if he wants to.

Hank sighs.

“C’mon kid, go sit on the sofa, I’ll get you a beer.”

“You know I’m not old enough to--”

“Don’t make an old man drink on his own after he’s put his kid in the ground,” he says, opening the cupboard where he keeps the whisky.  One more won’t hurt.

He pours himself a measure and snags a beer from the fridge for Connor and pops the cap; he’s not irresponsible enough to hit him with the hard stuff.  He’s perched on the couch when Hank turns around and walks over to sit beside him. He hands over the bottle, taking a sip of his own drink to encourage Connor to do the same.

“So,” he starts.  “This sucks.”

Connor nods, taking another drink.

“How’ve you been, Connor?  You need to talk about it?”

He bites down on both lips, closing his eyes and shaking his head.  He puts his beer on the coffee table.

“It’s okay if you need to let it out; I won’t judge.  God knows I’ve been crying like a bitch ever since it happened.”  He thinks his tears have run dry for now; it’s about time for him to step up and make sure his son’s best friend is okay.

“It’s not _fair_.”  His eyes are still closed and his hands clench into fists on his knees.  “He was my best friend. He was your son. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.”  Hank places his hand over one of Connor’s fists.

“He was so bright.  Everyone around him was better for his presence.  He made me believe in myself. He made you smile all the time.”

Connor opens his eyes to meet Hank’s, now brimming with tears.  He blinks and they fall.

“He was so proud of you, Hank.  He talked about you all the time, saying how great you are.”  He laughs a little. “He’d tell anyone who would listen about how you’d taken down a drug ring or reduced crime in Detroit by seven per cent.  That’s phenomenal, Hank. He learned so much from you and you don’t deserve this. You’re so strong; you raised him all on your own and you even had some time for me.  You taught him so much; he was so bright--”

“But I let him down!  He’s dead. I’m just a worthless sack of crap who couldn’t even keep his own son alive!”

By now Connor is crying in earnest, tears rolling down his cheeks and into his lap, sobs heaving from his chest.  Hank softens, instantly regretting lashing out. It isn’t time for him to be selfish and make it about himself.

“That’s not true,” he chokes out.  “I don’t know where I’d be without you and Cole.  You changed my life; I used to be so lonely, Hank.”

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Hank soothes.  “C’mere.”

He puts his empty glass on the table and uses his other arm to pull Connor to him.  He’s so stiff at first, barely breathing, but Hank persists and rubs gently at his back, feeling him gradually relax.  After a few seconds, he slowly moves his hands from their position on his lap to clutch at the back of Hank’s t-shirt, pulling himself closer as Hank makes gentle shushing noises.

“I’m so lost, Hank,” Connor mumbles into his chest.

“I gotcha.”  He tightens his grip and feels a little bit of the emptiness inside him subside.  “Just look at us pair. We gotta stick together. We’ll be okay.”

Connor pulls back enough to look Hank in the eye but remain in his embrace.  He bites down hard on his lip; Hank refuses to notice how red and swollen they are now.

“Hank…  I _want_ you,” he blurts out.

Shit.  No, no, no, not now.  He's suspected for a while that Connor might have a crush on him, harmless enough and kept well in check, but tonight of all nights he'll have to let him down gently?  It doesn't seem fair; he can't break the kid's heart even more.

“I want you to be okay,” he continues.

 _Nice save, kid_.

Hank sags in relief.  He quirks his lips upwards and exhales a breath through his nose.

“You almost had me there, Connor.”  His expression is quick to sober. “We’ve got this.  We’re gonna be okay.”

At the moment, Hank can’t see how they’re ever going to be okay after Cole, but he has to be the grown-up here for once.  Connor’s done more than his fair share today.

He seems to accept this and drops his head back to Hank’s chest.  Every stroke of Hank’s hand evokes a full body shudder and he burrows closer.  It occurs to Hank that he’s never really seen anyone touch Connor before; that Kamski guy he lives with doesn’t seem like the affectionate type.

“Is it okay if we lie down?  I’m so tired.”

Hank hesitates.

“I dunno.  I’m not sure if it’s a good idea…”

“I know.  I know. Just tonight, please, I need--”

“Okay.”

Poor kid never asks for anything for himself; who’s Hank to deny him some human contact now they’ve said goodbye to his best friend?  Without fully breaking their embrace, he pulls his legs up onto the sofa, Connor mimicking him, and they end up lying together with him against the backrest.  There’s something reassuring about being so close to someone who cares about him when his whole world is falling apart. He thinks Connor must be uncomfortable still wearing his formal clothes, but that’s his last thought before he closes his eyes and sleeps.

***

When he wakes the next morning, he’s covered with a blanket and decidedly alone.  He sighs, knowing this was inevitable but sad nonetheless. His body protests as he sits up after a night of sleeping on the sofa and his spine cracks when he stretches, but when he looks to the coffee table in front of him, he sees a glass of water and some painkillers next to a handwritten note.

 

_~~Mr Anderson~~ _

_Hank,_

_I’ll be over later to walk Sumo.  I believe the Detroit Gears are playing later if you were interested; I thought we could watch it together._

_Connor_

 

Hank smiles as he reads over it.  The kid’s really something.

***

Connor comes over nearly every day after that to walk Sumo and generally keep an eye on Hank.  They don't talk about Cole, don't talk a great deal to be honest, at least not in the beginning; neither of them know what to say.  One day Hank presses a key into Connor's hand, muttering something about how he was sick of getting up to answer the door to him. Maybe it is just for the sake of convenience, but maybe Hank wants him around.

It starts with him just taking Sumo out or watching the occasional basketball game, but sometimes he finds himself throwing out empty beer bottles and tidying a little.  It gets worse whenever an anniversary or a milestone comes up, like Cole’s birthday or when Connor finishes his junior year in highschool without Cole. He feels so powerless; every time he tries to talk to Hank about it, his throat dries up and his mind goes blank.  When it comes down to it, he’s just a reminder of his dead son, and even though he wants to be more than that, he knows it can’t happen right now. They grieve separately but swap reassuring smiles and take comfort in each other’s presence.

While Hank’s coping mechanisms seem to involve alcohol and working until he collapses from exhaustion, Connor throws himself into studying.  He works harder than ever before at school, takes any extra classes he can - advanced science, psychology, anything he can lose himself in - desperate to keep his mind filled.  He’s set himself a goal; he’s going to be a detective. It feels right, and with the way Cole used to talk about his dad and the cases he was involved in, how could Connor not have been inspired?

When he’s seventeen he applies for work experience at the Detroit Police Department.  He doesn’t know if Hank puts a good word in for him but he gets it anyway. They don’t let volunteers go out in the field until they’re eighteen, so Connor’s solely doing office work but he still makes a mark.  He organises the file archive, scans paper documents that they really shouldn’t have any more and when he’s not doing that he pores over old cold case files, searching for inconsistencies, angles that haven’t been considered before.

It's a difficult task, even if it is one he's set himself; everyone who worked on these cases were professionals, after all.  Yet something about this one case just doesn't sit right with him. The body of a middle-aged woman was found on the outskirts of town, but it later became apparent that she had been murdered at a shrine, stabbed just once with a blade whose handle was covered in her fingerprints and she hadn’t put up a fight.  There had been particularly heavy snowfall that year and on the day the police discovered the crime scene, the snow had been shovelled in a clear trench around the main monument.

This made sense to Connor at first; the killer wanted to get rid of the blood in the snow.  But why dig massive trenches? The red blood would have stood out on the snow so why not just remove those bits?  He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and can only come to one conclusion: the killer couldn’t see the blood. The only way to know for sure it was gone would have been to get rid of everything.

He turns to the terminal in front of him and pulls up info on the case, bringing up the medical records of all involved suspects and searching on whether anyone had suffered sight-affecting injuries or disorders.

“Jesus kid, you got a grudge against that keyboard or something?” Hank says from the desk opposite his.

“Just checking something,” Connor murmurs, scanning through the information in front of him.

He’s onto something.  One person involved in the case would have been unable to see the colour red.

“Lieutenant, take a look at this.”

He turns his screen around so Hank can see it.

“Oh yeah, you were looking at some cold cases.  Think you’re onto something?” he asks doubtfully.

“Maybe,” Connor replies, trying to keep cool because he’s almost certain he’s found something important.

“Shit, that’s that Armando guy," Hank says, leaning in to see better.  "Poor bastard was poisoned by some bitch years ago; I could barely stand to drink coffee for months afterwards.  Thought he was in a coma or something.”

“He was, Lieutenant.  He woke up a few months before the murder of Ms Fey…”

Connor goes on to explain the connection between Mr Armando and Ms Fey, finishing on how he couldn’t have seen the blood on the snow and therefore was forced to dig trenches.

“Wait, so you’re saying he was colourblind?”

“Not exactly, Lieutenant.  His eyes were damaged when he woke up and although they were augmented, they couldn’t be fully healed.  If you look at the doctors notes here, it says that the patient reported being unable to see any shade of red.”

Hank looks at him thoughtfully; Connor’s body goes taut under the weight of Hank’s regard and he has to break eye contact.  He redirects his attention to the screen in front of him.

“I’ll talk to Fowler, see if we can’t pay Mr Armando a visit.”  He rises from his seat, regarding Connor again. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re right.  Good job, Connor.”

He reaches over and grasps Connor’s shoulder before heading over to Fowler’s office; Connor’s skin is still burning from it minutes later when Hank and a few other officers leave the station to follow up this new lead.

***

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, you were right!”

Connor jerks awake suddenly at Hank’s voice, feeling his cheek peel off the flat surface of the desk.

“We’ve already interrogated him and got a confession; it was unbelievable!  I haven't felt this pumped about a case in years! Shit, Connor, were you asleep?  What time is it?” He looks to his own watch. “Jeez, midnight! Have you eaten?” 

“I’m okay, Lieutenant.  I’m just glad I could help.”  He stifles a yawn. 

“Help?  You practically solved this fucking thing on your own.  I wish you coulda come with us. You’d have loved it.”

Connor is inclined to agree; not only would he have loved to follow his lead through to the end, he would have loved to see Hank in action as well.  Maybe next year when he’s old enough to go out into the field. Hank comes over to him and grasps his shoulder again.

“C'mon, I'll drive you home.”

***

From the following day, it’s like Connor is an entirely different person.

Okay, that might be overstating it a bit.  Perhaps it's more like Hank has just opened his eyes for the first time when he looks at Connor.  Obviously he's always known the kid was mad smart, well-mannered and kind, but something about seeing this behaviour in a real-world setting really impresses him; he finds it appealing how much more capable Connor seems to be.  It's not just that though; every morning when he gets in, there's a fresh cup of coffee on his desk, and though they never mention it aloud, Hank knows it's Connor's doing. No one else is that nice to him.

But there's more.  If Reed's starting to piss him off, Connor will interrupt to ask Hank for help with something, even when he clearly doesn't need it.  If Hank's bored out of his mind and antsy to just get out of the office, Connor will engage him in conversation about the latest Detroit Gears game or suggest they take a walk.  It's kinda nice to have someone pay attention to him. It's been a while since anyone had cared like that.

Of course, Hank isn't the only one to notice this.  One day, he's cornered in the breakroom by Reed and Chen.

"What do you guys want?" he asks, taking his coffee from the machine.  He considers for a moment before pressing the button again to make one for Connor.

"Ah, nothing," Reed replies nonchalantly.  "Just thinking how it must be nice for a washed up old slob to have a handsome young twink drooling over his dick.  Must be good for morale. Personally, I don't see the appeal." He looks him up and down appraisingly. Hank frowns.

"Hank, you know Connor totally wants the D, right?" Chen chimes in.

They're advancing on him, backing him into a corner both figuratively and literally.  He can't deal with this shit right now.

"Jesus Christ, he's seventeen."

"Old enough.  Legal," Reed points out.

"Don't you _dare_ ," Hank spits, fists clenching.  His stomach churns, sick at the thought of Reed and Connor, sick at himself for the irrational surge of jealousy, sick at Reed for objectifying his friend (he's bemused to realise that they kind of _are_ friends at this point).   _Legal_ ; he suppresses a shudder.

Reed holds his hands up.  "Not interested. Wouldn't stand a chance anyway."  Hank feels smug at the bitterness in his voice.

Chen's arms are folded and the two of them are blocking his way to the exit.  Looks like he's not going anywhere until he says something.

"That's not the point.  He's so freaking young--"

"He's always going to be younger than you, dumbass," Reed interjects, but Hank detects some underlying kindness in his tone.  Surprising.

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder."  He scrubs at his face with his hands.  "He's… he's still growing. Not that I think he's a child, but he's gotta get out there, become his own person, realise that he can do way better than me."

He looks down to avoid seeing any pity in their eyes; he doesn't need it from these guys.  Why is he opening up to them anyway?

"Well," Chen says briskly, "quite frankly it's disgusting the way he moons over you, reeling off random facts to make you smile, blushing all over the place when you praise him.  You really should do something about it before he goes back to school next week."

"Noted," Hank says, fully intending to continue with not addressing the matter at all.

He picks up the two cups of coffee and his colleagues part to allow him to leave the room.

***

He sees a lot less of Connor than he would like over the following year, though maybe that's a good thing.  They seem to miss each other when Connor comes to walk Sumo; Hank wonders briefly if this is deliberate but he has been working longer hours recently and Connor had mentioned taking even more extra classes this year.  Once or twice he even comes home to find Connor passed out on his sofa with Sumo, surrounded by electronic textbooks and handwritten notes. It makes him feel warm inside and he puts a blanket over them before heading to bed himself.  If it's a school night, Connor will be gone in the morning, but if not they might have breakfast together and watch TV. It's kinda nice.

This summer is Connor's last volunteering at the DPD before he's off to college for God knows how long.  Hank's no fool; he knows he's gonna miss the kid. He's been on his own for the last two years though so he thinks he’ll be okay.  It's not like Connor's his only friend; there's Jimmy at the bar, Pedro, Fowler, he guesses, and he sees his colleagues all day. He's practically a social butterfly, deserving of some peace in the evenings with Sumo.  He has to keep telling himself this.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts and brings him back into the moment.  The office is still quiet at this time in the morning, people still trickling in, or maybe Hank's just been too spaced out at his desk to notice.  He looks up to see Connor beaming down at him because who else would it be? Who else would touch him like that? The way the younger man starts rubbing circles with his thumb, though, that's new.  He glances around but no one seems to be paying them any attention.

"Hey, Connor," he says carefully.

"Good morning, Lieutenant."  He holds out a cup of coffee.  "This is for you."

Hank is careful to let their fingers meet when he takes the cup, curious to see what Connor's reaction will be, expecting blushing.  Instead, if possible, his smile goes even softer and he squeezes Hank's shoulder before retreating to his desk opposite Hank's. He's grinning when he sits down, thrumming with excitement, unable to stop himself from glancing over to Hank every couple of seconds.  Hank sighs fondly.

"What is it?  I know you're dying for me to ask."

"Captain Fowler called me into his office before," Connor blurts out.  "The paperwork came through last night; now I'm eighteen I'm allowed to do some fieldwork!"

Hank's own face breaks into a grin.  "That's great, Connor! Bet you're desperate to see some action.”

“It would be a welcome change of pace from combing through cold cases,” he admits, looking down at his hands.  “Not that I haven’t learned a lot from that, but--”

“But reading the report’s one thing and actually doing it is another.  So how’s this working then? You going out to investigate the small time stuff or tagging along with one of us?”

“Well…”  Connor hesitates.  “The captain wanted me to decide what I would get the most out of, so I had hoped I might accompany you.  Just once or twice! It doesn’t have to be always. You’re a great cop, Hank, and it would be such an honour--”

"Jeez, kid, you're making me blush," Hank interrupts, rubbing at the back of his neck.  "Sure you can come with me. I'll just run it past Fowler then we'll see what comes in today."

If possible, Connor seems even more excited as Hank stands and makes his way to Fowler's office.

***

Fowler's completely on board.

"The kid's got potential," he says.  "He can learn a lot form you and he obviously respects you."

"Yeah, unlike _some_ people."

He looks out through the glass wall to see Reed throwing paper aeroplanes at his desk.  Great.

"You know the drill, Lieutenant.  Keep him safe, don't let him near your gun, just use some common sense.  He seems capable enough - even Reed was kinda impressed when we went through some training drills - but rules are rules."

"Yessir."

Hank turns around, making to leave, but Fowler calls him back.

"This… this _thing_ you've got going with Connor--"

"There is no _thing_ , Jeffrey."  Hank clenches his fists and takes a step forward.

"Okay, okay."  He holds his hands up.  "Well, whatever it is, it's good, Hank.  I know the last few years have been hard--"

"Not now."

"Sure, fine," Fowler concedes.  "But I am your friend. Don't forget that."

Hank nods, throat tight.  He turns to leave again, closing the door behind him and feeling the tension leave his body when Connor looks up at him.  How can he make Hank feel so calm by just _looking_ at him?

Hank sits down at his desk and glances at his screen.

"Did he say yes?"

It almost looks like Connor is vibrating, his leg bouncing up and down so fast.  Hank almost wants to roll his eyes but smiles indulgently instead.

"Of course he did."

He's never seen Connor grin so wide before; it sends warmth surging through him.

"Anyway, you're in luck.  Seems there's been a break-in at Carl Manfred's place.  Not a homicide but let's break you in gently."

He relaxes in his chair and logs in to check his emails.  The coffee Connor brought him earlier is almost at drinking temperature and he takes a generous sip, savouring the perfectly balanced flavour.  How is Connor even good at this? He still feels his eyes on him and looks up.

"Can we go now, Lieutenant?"

"Jeez, Connor, let me finish my drink."

Fuck, he's adorable. Hank scrolls through his messages a bit, aware of Connor trying to distract himself by looking at something on his screen and pretending to type.  He sighs and resignedly downs the rest of his coffee, scorching his throat, before standing.

"C'mon then, let's go."

He checks his pockets for his keys and strolls out, Connor scampering behind him.

***

Connor is having the time of his life.  Even when he was younger and perhaps had a more romanticised view of the police, he didn't imagine how exhilarating it would be.  Admittedly, Hank keeps him away from a lot of the action, which is frustrating when Connor _knows_ he would be useful, but he understands.  He doesn't want Hank getting into trouble because of him, so he behaves himself.

Seeing Hank in action is… inspiring.  He has bittersweet memories of sitting on the couch with Cole, the two of them wide-eyed and open-mouthed as Hank would recount chasing down a red ice dealer and reading him his Miranda rights; Connor remembered his heart pounding in his chest, so caught up in the story and Hank’s delivery.  His heart still pounds like that now when he sees the man in action - Hank is _good_ at his job - but the feeling behind it has evolved somewhat.

To put it plainly, Connor has never jerked off so much in his life.

He has to rush home after work most days, cursing because surely he should have been over  this particular stage of puberty when he was about fifteen, but he supposes he's never had such vivid material to work with.  Hank's just so _hot_ , pursuing suspects, chest heaving after a particularly gruelling chase, his strong arms handcuffing the perps and manhandling them into the car; what Connor wouldn't give to be manhandled by Hank.  It's not just Hank in action that gets Connor all hot and bothered; his rapt concentration as he investigates and the easy relaxation once a case is over is irresistible too. Even just the chilled out way he drives his car - elbow resting on the window, fingertips tapping the steering wheel in time to the music, cranking up the volume - is so appealing to Connor; he is so gone for this man.  He doesn’t miss the glances Hank sends his way when he thinks Connor isn’t looking, quiet smiles with hints of awe, the softest eyes he’s ever seen.

And he’s eighteen now, he’s an adult, he could totally go for it!  Half the office thinks they’re on the brink of it anyway so would it even be that big of a deal?  However, he knows Hank quite well by now; the older man would never let himself have this, would try to convince Connor he could do better if he got out into the real world.  So that’s exactly what Connor’s going to do. He’s got a scholarship to a prestigious university outside of Detroit (and generous financial support from Elijah to fill in the gaps) where he’s going to work harder than he ever has before, try to make friends - it doesn’t come easily to him but everyone’s in the same boat at college, right? - and then when he comes home, still in love with Hank, maybe he will finally believe that he’s all Connor has ever wanted.  It should take six years to get all the qualifications he wants, but he’s sat down and worked it out and is convinced he can do it in four. Fowler’s mentioned more than once how nice it would be to have Connor at the DPD year round; if he’s lucky, he could walk straight into a job when he gets back.

So when he brings himself off with Hank’s name on his lips he knows he’s chasing a distant dream but he’s waited this long; what’s a little while longer?

***

"I gotta warn you, Connor, stakeouts are nowhere near as cool as they look on TV."  He leans back in his seat, stretching. "Better get comfortable."

He settles, shifting slightly to look at Connor.  “Okay, question time. What are we doing here?”

“You should know, Lieutenant; you’re the one who drove us here,” Connor quips.

“Hey, less of the sass,” Hank scolds, but his fond eye-roll softens the jab.  “ _I_ know what we’re doing here.  I wanted to know if _you_ know.”  His arms are folded and he breaks eye contact for a moment.  “And when we’re alone, you can call me Hank."

A shudder jolts through Connor at the phrasing of that statement: "when we're alone".  Not "when no one's around" or "when we're out of the office"; it sounds much more intimate.  He's reading too much into it, he knows he is, but it also sinks in how cut off they are from other people at this moment, confined close together in Hank's car.  Hank doesn't think anyone will show up this evening so it's not like they'd be interrupted if Connor were to lean over and close the gap between him; it will have to be him that makes the first move.

"Connor?"

Connor snaps himself out of it, returning to the moment.

"My apologies.  I would like to remain professional while we're on duty to maintain a working mindset."

"Suit yourself," Hank shrugs.

"Anyway, this is where we're at," Connor says, returning to Hank's earlier question.  He looks down to his hands as he recalls the relevant information from the case. "We're looking for Tony Mayer, 58-year-old caucasian male, suspected of formulating a unique variety of red ice.  It costs less to manufacture and distribute than the traditional recipe, meaning it’s a cheap way for addicts to get high. However, they become unresponsive to stimuli which makes them vulnerable to assault and it has also been linked with medical issues such as renal failure and heart attacks.”

Hank nods.  “Gotta get that shit off the streets before it leads to an epidemic or something.”

Connor continues.  “We're here because he used to own an apartment in this block, and though the place has been condemned for years, we've had reports of activity around the building."

"And how come we knew he might be involved in all this?"

Connor blushes.  "I was reading through your old case files and noticed similarities between the chemical makeup of this drug and one you investigated twenty years ago.  It was too similar to be a coincidence."

"Fuckin' _genius_."  Hank beams at him.  "Woulda taken me a hell of a lot longer to come to that conclusion.  That slippery bastard won't get away with this. To think he'd use the same building after all these years.  Well, that's what we're finding out tonight."

He yawns and stretches again, settling further in his seat.

“Do you think he’ll show up?” Connor asks.

“Nah.  I mean, _maybe_ \- he can’t have been tipped off about us being here - but more often than not it ends up being a bust.  Might as well start thinking of ways to pass the time.”

Connor has a few ideas.  He thinks back to last night’s fantasies, being bent over the interrogation room table with Hank taking him from behind, both of them watching their reflections in the mirrored glass.  He bets that if Hank moved his seat back a few inches, Connor could crawl into his lap and kiss him, grind their cocks together as Hank pulls him closer, moaning into his mouth. Or failing that, what if he just leaned over and unzipped his pants?  He’s never sucked cock before but he’s read about it and thinks he could do a passable job. He’d pay attention, learn what Hank likes and wreck him with it.

Suddenly his own pants are feeling a bit tight.  He brings his right ankle to rest on his left knee and looks to Hank inquisitively.  They exchange pleasantries for a few minutes about the latest Detroit Gears game and the current office gossip until they’re left with comfortable silence.  There’s been no movement outside so far but Connor is still alert, startling when the wind blows trash around.

"You excited for college?" Hank asks.  "Not long now. You going MIT?"

Connor nods.  "I'm eager to learn more and get the qualifications I need.  I only hope I'll enjoy it as much as I enjoy working with the DPD."

"Sure you will.  I had a blast at college, even met Fowler there and look where we are now.  It'll be good for you, being around a bunch of like-minded people your own age."

Hank nods to himself and Connor shrugs, shying away from his implication.  He wonders if he should object, timing be damned, but Hank continues before he can.

"Cole woulda been going to college too.  Wonder what he would have gone for. Would have been proud of him whatever he did."

There's a wistful sadness in his voice; when Connor risks looking at him, he's staring blankly ahead, contemplative.  Without thinking, he reaches out his hand and puts it on top of Hank’s which is resting on his lap. He flinches at the contact but before Connor can withdraw, he turns his hand palm up and laces their fingers together.  Connor tightens his grip.

“I think he’d be doing something creative.  Maybe even travelling,” Connor contemplates, absently rubbing his thumb on Hank’s hand.

This is the first time they’ve talked about Cole since his funeral and the moment feels so fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it; the only thing holding it together is their clasped hands.  Hank squeezes.

“Yeah.  He wanted to get out there and see the world, make lotsa friends.  Definitely didn’t get that from his dad.”

“I think perhaps he did,” Connor says quietly, eyes fixated on how Hank’s hand nearly engulfs his.  “You care about people, even if you pretend not to, want to make sure they’re alright. Cole wanted that too; I think that’s why he started talking to me in the first place.”

Hank shrugs his left shoulder but when Connor looks up he sees the smallest smile on his lips.  They sit in silence for a while longer, Hank’s thumb drawing the occasional circle.

“Look, Connor, I…”  Hank trails off, looking determinedly in front of him before continuing.  “You know I’m no good at this feelings crap, but I think it’s important for you to know that you’re my friend.”  His fingers tighten between Connor’s, who returns the pressure as he feels tightness at the back of his throat. “Sure, you were Cole’s best friend and you always will be, but when it comes down to it, I think of you as _my_ friend.  You… you know there aren’t many people I trust and I find it hard to let people get close, especially since Cole--”

He cuts himself off, unable to finish the sentence, and Connor finds himself nodding frantically, desperate to communicate that he understands and it’s the same for him, but unable to force the words out.  He thinks Hank gets it though.

Hank clears his throat a few times, redirecting the mood.

“Well, that’s enough of that.  We’ve got a job to do.”

“Thanks, Hank,” Connor murmurs.

“Not like it was a love confession, jeez,” Hank says, trying to make light of the situation, but he and Connor are both blushing… and still holding hands.

Connor’s heart skips a beat when he hears the word ‘love’ as it hits far too close to home, but he’s still smiling, grateful that he’s more to Hank than his dead son’s best friend.

The atmosphere changes when Hank sits up straight in his seat and leans forward to look out through the windscreen, detaching his hand from Connor’s.  Connor follows his line of sight.

“Shit, did you see that, Connor?  I think it’s him! Son of a bitch actually showed up!”

Sure enough, a dark figure is skulking around the edge of the building, skirting furtive glances to his surroundings but he doesn't notice the car.

"I gotta follow him.  Even if it's not him, this place is abandoned so there's gotta be something shifty going on."

Hank reaches for his holster and pulls out his gun, opening the car door.

"Lieutenant--"

"Stay in the car, Connor.  I got this. Guy was never violent, just a giant pain in the ass.  I'll be back before you know it."

Connor bites down on his bottom lip, brow furrowing.

"We'll take him in after this.  You can watch the interrogation; it'll be great.  We couldn't have done this without you."

Hank's grin is blinding and it nearly puts Connor at ease as he gets out the car and closes the door behind him, following the suspect.   _Nearly_.  A sense of wrongness lingers in his gut; he just can't shake it.  He tries though, calming himself with deep breaths. Hank is a professional who absolutely knows what he's doing, has years of experience with cases far more dangerous than this, yet Connor can't let himself relax.

His heart sinks as Hank slinks out of view; at the same time, he scans around out of habit.  He doesn't think he could feel any worse when he notices a second dark figure approaching the building.  Something glints in his hand and while Connor can't quite make it out, he knows it's a gun. His ears are ringing as if he can literally hear the alarm bells; he's tense and trembling at the same time.  He has to do something.

Instinctively, he wants to rush out of the car, ambush this man in some way, just get him away from Hank, but even though he's panicked, he's not stupid.  Inhaling deeply, he pulls out his phone to call it in.

"Yo, DPD, Reed speaking."

"Detective Reed, it's Connor."

"Hey Connor.  Aren't you and Hank on a 'stake out' together at the moment?"  Connor can hear the air quotes and stamps down a burst of anger because _this is not the time_.

"Lieutenant Anderson just followed the suspect into the building but now a second person has appeared.  He's following the Lieutenant into the building and he has a gun. We need backup, _please,_ " Connor impresses.

He hears clattering on the other end of the line, as if Reed has dropped the phone.

"Shit.  Okay, we're on our way.  Don't move, stay in the fucking car."

But Connor is already opening the passenger side door as he hangs up.  He closes it quietly behind him before opening the rear passenger door and rummaging under his seat.  Hank keeps an old police baton there that hasn't been standard issue for a long time; "you never know," he'd shrugged when Connor had found it. Connor seizes it, feeling a little bit better about what he's going to do now he's not going in completely defenceless.  The weight of it is comforting in his hands as he heads over to the building as quietly as he can; he's just seen the second suspect enter after Hank.

He peeks through the slightly ajar door to see the man heading through another door towards the back of the reception area.  Connor's light on his feet and careful as he pushes the door open but he's surprised his thudding heartbeat hasn't given him away; it's the only thing he can hear.  He's running on pure adrenaline and the determination that he can _not_ let this guy get to Hank, not when they were finally starting to connect like this, not at all, not in a million years.

Dragging himself back into the moment, he scans the room just in case there are any more hidden figures before following the man through the door at the back of the room.  This place is filthy, Connor vaguely registers, plaster peeling off the walls, the smell of damp stinging at his nostrils. He can hear the faint whirring of a portable generator as there's no way this place still has its own electricity.

The man with the gun is standing in front of a door with light spilling through the cracks.  He breathes in deeply as though steeling himself - should Connor rush in now while his guard is down? - before raising his gun and kicking the door open.

"Step the fuck away and get rid of the gun!" the man yells and Connor has to cut off his own strangled yelp as he actually fires the gun, the shot ringing in his ears.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he hears Hank say.

He’s hurt.  Hank’s hurt, Hank’s hurt, Connor has to go in immediately, every instinct is screaming at him to, put a stop to this before it gets any worse.  He tries to preconstruct it in his head, over and over again, but the risks are just too high every time, there are too many variables he can’t account for.  Is Tony, the original suspect, also armed? Has he already hurt Hank? Perhaps he's been subdued and handcuffed - Hank is very efficient - and depending on how big the room is he could have time to warn the second suspect of Connor's approach.  Or maybe Connor wouldn't be fast enough and he could get hurt as well? He needs more information. Maybe now he’s gained the upper hand over Hank, the suspect is less likely to shoot. Maybe Hank can keep him talking. Maybe that will be enough.

Connor stands by the entrance to the room, keeping out of sight behind the doorframe.  He hears Hank place his gun on the floor and kick it away. He’s not hurt enough that he can’t do that.  Connor tries to take some comfort in it.

"Wh-what did you do to him?" the man shouts.  He sounds quite young; Connor guesses between twenty and forty.

"Hey, I didn't do anything,” Hank grits out.  “Bastard practically ran in here and started huffing red ice; didn't even realise what was happening when I came in."

"Don't call him that!  He's my dad. He-he said he would change."

Slowly, Connor looks around the doorframe into the room.  The younger man has his back to the door and the gun aimed at Hank is shaking slightly.  His eyes follow the gun’s path to Hank. He’s on his feet - that’s good - but his right hand is clutching at his left upper arm.  It’s hard to assess the damage from here, gauge whether the bullet’s in his arm or if it grazed him. If he’s bleeding, he seems to be stemming it at least.

The suspect is completely focussed on Hank but seems jumpy.  He’s already fired his gun once so there’s no way of knowing whether he’s going to do it again.  He’s unstable, tremors wracking his entire body - is it nerves or red ice? - holding it together enough not to sob but if he does get upset, who knows what might happen?  Connor has to act.

His thoughts clear and mind made up, he takes one final deep breath before edging into the doorway.  The old carpet on the floor silences his footsteps and because there's no light in front of him, he doesn't cast a shadow.  His hands grip tightly on the baton and he takes another silent step.

For the briefest split second, Hank's eyes meet his - the young man appears to be looking at his father who is on the floor to Hank's left - but he quickly reverts his gaze to the man with the gun trained on him.

"I'm sorry, kid," Hank says appeasingly, wincing as he raises his left hand slightly.  "He didn't even put up a fight when I cuffed him. This shit's dangerous."

"He said he'd stop!" the man insists, gun waving slightly.  Connor takes another step. "He was so sorry for being in prison for so long, sorry he couldn't raise me.  He had nothing when they let him out!" Another step. "Just thrown out like a piece of trash. There was no choice but to start selling the red ice again, just until we made enough cash to start a new life."

Connor's about four steps away now.  The man hasn't caught on to his presence yet and Hank is completely blanking him.

"And don't think I don't know who _you_ are, _Lieutenant Anderson_ ," he continues.  "I know you're the one who got him locked up."

"People were dying!” Hank interjects, exasperated.  “He had to be stopped."

It's as if Hank hadn't spoken.  Three steps away now, Connor raises the baton.

"Have you any idea what it's like to grow up without a father?  It's _hard_ , okay?  And you're gonna _pay_."

He lets out a brief, maniacal laugh, waving his gun and preparing to take a step towards Hank  and that's _it_ for Connor.  He strides forwards, baton held to his left side and swings it into the side of his head _hard_.  He knows the best way to knock someone unconscious is to make their brain hit against the inside of their skull and judging by the way this guy crumples, he thinks it might have happened.  The gun is no longer in his hands which is the most important thing. Finally he looks at Hank, whose hand is still in the air. He lowers it slowly, gaze fixed on Connor.

“You just saved my life.”

His eyes are wide and blue and absolutely full of awe like Connor has never seen before, not even when he solved the Armando case last summer.  All at once, the events of the last few minutes catch up with him as he feels the baton slip from his fingers, tears blurring his vision. His knees weaken and as he drops to the floor, he hears the distant blare of police sirens at last.

At the same time he falls to his knees, Hank staggers towards him, bending to kneel beside him.  He cups Connor’s face with his good hand, stare piercing into Connor who unthinkingly reaches his hand to touch the frayed hole on the sleeve of Hank’s jacket, oddly horrified when his fingers come back covered in blood and the other man flinches.  He puts a hand on each of Connor's shoulders, suddenly ignorant of his own injury, before pulling the younger man to him. All Connor can do is pull himself even closer, fingers digging into the back of Hank's jacket. One of Hank's hands rubs his back and the other strokes his hair; Hank is the only thing he's aware of and he needs to keep it that way.  Connor notices the softness of his warm shirt where it's pressed against his cheek, the smell of him – traces of cologne, his detergent, his sweat, _him_ – the all-encompassing warmth of him.  He can’t help but burrow closer and breathe in, aware of his tears dampening Hank's clothes.

"It's gonna be okay, Connor, everything's fine," Hank whispers.

Connor nods, revelling in the strength of Hank's grip and the slight roughness of his hands on his hair, his moist breath by Connor's ear.  He drops a kiss into Connor's hair which evokes another sob because fuck, what if he'd never got to know what that felt like?

"I was so scared," he chokes out, face still buried in Hank's chest.  "What if I'd lost you?"

"Psh, it'll take more than some nutjob with a gun to take me down," he reassures.  "The bullet only grazed me, I’ll be fine. You did so well out there, Connor. That was some quick thinking.  I'm so proud of you."

Connor doesn't think he could cry any harder or pull himself any closer to Hank, but he proves himself wrong on both counts; he's nearly in his lap at this point.  Footsteps approach as the police finally, _finally_ arrive; Connor turns his head to look but Hank halts the motion with his hand on the back of Connor's head, blocking any stimuli. No one comments on their intimacy as they gauge the situation, piecing together what must have happened, but he feels someone pat Hank's shoulder.  If anything is said, Connor doesn't hear it, instead occupied listening to Hank's steady but slightly elevated heartbeat.

Connor wants to stay like this forever but soon enough Hank is nudging him, pulling away slightly.  Distressed, Connor holds on.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere.  We gotta get outta here though, go back to the station, debrief.  Here, take this."

Reluctantly, he pulls back from Hank, who is smiling at him kindly.  With only a slight expression of discomfort, Hank removes his jacket one arm at a time and reaches around Connor to pull it around him in lieu of a shock blanket.  It absolutely drowns him but it smells like Hank and that’s what he needs.

Connor finds his hand and doesn't let go of it until they get back to the station.

***

Hank feels like he's been telling Fowler about what happened for about ten years, but maybe that's just because he's anxious to get back to Connor.  He can see him through the glass walls of the office, sitting in Hank's chair, still wrapped up in his jacket.

"And you definitely told him to stay in the car?" Fowler asks again.

Hank sighs in frustration.

"Of course I did.  I know the protocol.  And I know he would have stayed if it weren't for this other guy."

"I know this is difficult, Hank, but we might have to consider disciplinary action.  I hate to suggest it, but he hit a suspect with a weapon--"

"Fuck that shit!  He thought a sack of shit like me was worth saving and he went for it.  The guy's fine, just a bump on the head, I only needed a couple of stitches; this really was the best case scenario--"

"No, it really wasn't," Fowler interrupts.  "You should have called for backup before following the guy; who knows what you could have been walking into?"

Hank opens his mouth to argue - he knew what he was walking into, that their suspect had no history of violence or gun ownership, that it should have been straightforward - but he bites his tongue.  If he can shift any blame from Connor to himself, he'll do it, anything to make sure Connor's okay.

"You're right, Jeffrey."

Fowler scoffs.  "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Hank frowns but continues.  "I should have scoped out the area better before coming in.  I shouldn't have assumed that things would be the same twenty years later.  I was just so pumped to catch this guy, maybe show Connor a bit of action. It's my bad."  He looks imploringly to Fowler. "I'll take responsibility for this. Please don't let it fall on Connor.  He did the right thing by calling it in. He's a goddamn hero in my eyes; he doesn't deserve any shit from this.  Wouldn't you have done the same thing in his shoes?"

Fowler sighs but ultimately nods.  "You're right. He did his best and off the record, I'm seriously impressed.  With a bit more training and experience, he's going to be exceptional. Can't wait to have him back once he's qualified."

Hank blinks slowly.  "He's coming back?"

"I sure hope so.  Told him I'd have a place for him.  Surprised he hasn't mentioned it; doesn't seem like he can keep anything from you."  He pauses while Hank takes it in. "You gonna be okay when he goes? You guys work really well together."  He pauses again, chewing over his words. "You _work_ together as well.  You suit each other.  So I have to ask; are you going to be okay without him?"

Hank runs his fingers through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Look, Jeffrey, we've been through a lot tonight and I don't wanna talk about this right now so can you drop it?"

He stands to leave.

"No, I can't drop it.  Fuck, Hank, the kid's leaving in four days and you need to talk about this!  I need to know as your boss that I'll still have an exemplary officer once he’s gone to college."

"I'm a professional, Jeffrey," Hank replies, dodging the question.

"Okay, whatever, I'll hold you to that, but as your friend, are you going to be alright?  I know Connor means a lot to you."

Hank feels his face flush with shame, shame of being caught wanting something he can't have, shame that everyone can see it when he'd tried so hard to hide it.  It's hard to admit but he nods, exhaling shakily and lifting his head to look at Fowler.

"I'll… I'll deal with it."

"Fine," Fowler shrugs, looking unconvinced.  "You've got friends here; remember that. Also, you and Connor are strictly on desk duty for the rest of the week; consider than your punishment.  We'll keep the report vague; I don't think anything will come of this."

"Am I excused?" Hank asks petulantly, but he sees Fowler follow his gaze through the glass to Connor, who's looking in on them now.

“I want your report on this on my desk by close of play tomorrow,” he says, but dismisses Hank.

He feels his friend’s gaze on him as Connor pulls him into another hug before the two of them leave the station so he can drop Connor off at home.

***

The ride back to Connor's is mostly quiet, Connor seemingly too trapped inside his own head to offer many words.  It's almost a relief when he pulls up outside the house; they need some time apart to process what happened. At least Connor seems to have relaxed a bit, less tension in his posture; he seemed slightly reassured when Hank was cleared to drive, injury not too serious to prevent him.  Hank shuts off the engine and puts the handbrake on.

"I'll walk you to the door. "

They get out of the car and he escorts Connor down the short path to his house.  It's in the nicer part of town, definitely a lot larger and fancier than his own house, with solar panels and a clean modern feel to it.  It's hardly the Hollywood mansion he'd pictured belonging to Elijah Kamski.

Connor fumbles for his keys but before he finds them, the door opens in front of them and they're greeted by Kamski himself.

"I saw you on the cameras," he explains, beckoning them inside.  "Welcome home, Connor. Lieutenant Anderson." He closes the door behind them.  "Captain Fowler called. Good job, Connor. You should get some rest."

Connor nods dumbly before turning pleading eyes on Hank.

"It's okay," he says, reaching out to clasp Connor's shoulder but he has other ideas, throwing himself into Hank's arms one last time.  He returns the gesture, aware of Kamski's eyes on them but he tries to block out his stare. "You don't have to come in tomorrow, okay? Take all the time you need.  You'll feel better after sleeping."

"Thanks, Hank," he murmurs, pulling away before stumbling his way upstairs.

He and Kamski make sure he gets up there okay and their eyes meet when they hear his bedroom door close.  Hank breaks the eye contact, trying to think of a way to leave. Kamski has an awkward air about him; he knows now where Connor got some of his awkwardness from but while it's endearing on him, it's unsettling on Kamski.  As he looks around the foyer, he's reminded how crazy rich the man is, taking in marble sculptures and a framed magazine cover with his picture, saying he's one of the richest men in America. His actual profession eludes Hank, but he thinks it's something top secret to do with AI.  It begs the question though; why does he live in a relatively quaint house when he's this loaded? Is it for Connor's sake?

"It seems you've made quite the impression on Connor," Kamski observes.  His gaze sits on Hank heavily, making him feel as though Kamski knows his every secret.

"I try to keep him out of trouble," he replies, instantly regretting the turn of phrase.

The other man raises an eyebrow but continues.

"It's nice to know he has a partner who's looking out for his best interests."

It's so hard to get a read on this guy!  Hank tries to brush off his unease.

"Yeah, I try… and I'll try harder in the future," he finishes, as if he's being chastised.

Kamski nods, expression giving nothing away.

"Anyways, it's been a long night.  I'd best get going."

He turns to leave and Kamski follows him to the door.

"Be seeing you," Kamski says.

Hank half smiles, hoping it doesn't look too much like a grimace, and raises his hand in goodbye.  As he walks back to his car, he's struck by the feeling that he was being appraised and isn't sure whether he's passed.  He tries to shrug it off and makes to pull his jacket closer to him from the cold before realising that Connor still has it.  The thought of Connor being comforted by wearing something of his warms him though, and the grimace from before fades as he opens the car door.

***

Even though they're stuck on desk duty, the next few days pass far too quickly for either Connor or Hank's liking.  Someone buys doughnuts to celebrate the successful stake out – Hank has never felt like such a stereotype – and everyone's patting Connor on the back, congratulating him.  Even Reed nods his approval. He'd ended up being the one to interrogate Mayer and his son and alongside their confessions, there's plenty of evidence to convict them. Hank almost feels bad for the son, having to struggle through life without his father, but then he remembers the destroyed look on Connor's face after he knocked him out and smiles to himself; that guy deserves to rot.

Connor seems quieter than usual and Hank has a few theories as to why.  He doesn’t usually get this much attention from the other officers and he knows he’d be overwhelmed in Connor’s position.  He knows Connor doesn’t find it easy to receive physical contact, though Hank notes himself as the exception, so it must be invasive to have people grasping his shoulder or ruffling his hair.  Hank himself would try to shrug it off but Connor is very gracious and sincere to everyone and wouldn’t let on if he were feeling uncomfortable.

Maybe he’s embarrassed about his behaviour last night, or the possibility of it being perceived as weak by superior officers, crying in front of them.  Shit, Hank’s still harbouring enough toxic masculinity that he can’t cry in front of anyone. But they talked about this in the car last night; he told Connor he would have acted exactly as he had in the situation and the only reason he wasn’t distraught in the aftermath was his years of experience and training.  “It’s always gonna suck,” he’d warned, “but it’ll get easier.”

Hank’s final and least favourite speculation is that Connor regrets pouring his heart out like that.   _“What if I’d lost you?”_ Connor had said, those five words betraying the depths of his feelings that he’d clearly been trying to keep a handle on.  Hank had felt something break inside of him but stamped down on it to deal with later like he always did. Could be Connor was ashamed that other people saw them embracing, perhaps confirming their suspicions, and afraid of any possible backlash and gossip.  Worst of all, what if he wants to take it back? What if it was just a heat of the moment thing?

He notices Connor keeps glancing up at the clock, mostly because he is as well, counting down the hours until Connor has to go with dread while Connor is probably thrumming with anticipation.  As he watches Connor’s eyes dart between him and the clock and takes note of his stiff posture and inability to focus on what he’s doing, Hank wonders if he should finally put a name to this unquashable ache in his chest.  He never really kept up with his marriage counselling when that was falling apart, or his grief counselling for that matter, but he does recall his therapist talking about the importance of identifying his emotions so he can process them.  If he finally admits to himself that his feelings towards Connor have changed over the past year or so, will it make him feel better? Worse? Does it even matter when Connor will be gone this time tomorrow?

“Lieutenant?”

Thanks to his downward-spiralling thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed Connor get up from his desk and wander over to Hank’s.  He perches on the edge, facing Hank, long legs stretched out in front of him, gorgeous, looking like he belongs in this exact spot.   _Don't look at his cock, don't look at his cock_ , he tells himself, looking anyway.   _Fuck's sake, you thought he was a kid just a few months ago_.  The thought is enough to sober him.

"S'up, Connor?"

"I… wondered if I could speak to you after work."

He is _not_ in the right headspace for this.

"I've got some time now?" he offers but Connor shakes his head, looking to the clock once again.

"After work would be better."

"Sure, sure…  Everything okay?"

"Yes, everything's fine, don't worry yourself," Connor assures, but his gaze skirts up to the clock again.

Hank nods and Connor gives a clipped smile before standing and returning to his own desk.

For better or worse, the final hours pass and the other officers trickle out, saying their goodbyes to Connor and looking at the two of them pointedly.  Hank scowls at them but Connor is sincere with his goodbyes, submitting to yet more good-natured physical contact. Eventually, it's just the two of them, the air feeling almost charged.  Connor's collecting his possessions from his desk into a bag, having one last check of his drawers for anything he might have missed. Hank isn't surprised that Connor's amassed various trinkets and news article printouts of cases he's worked on during his time here.  There's even a candid photo of the two of them taken by Ben from when they made a tower of lever arch files after Connor had scanned the last of their paper documents for archiving; he gazes at it fondly before carefully putting it away.

He walks over to Hank.

"What can I do for you, Connor?" he asks casually.

Connor looks around nervously.  "Could we go somewhere more private?"

Hank raises a sceptical eyebrow, causing Connor to roll his eyes and blush.

"I just want to talk to you, Lieutenant."

"No one's using the interrogation rooms."

He stands and leads the way, grateful there's no one around to see them sneak off together.

Once they're in there, they're quiet, as if neither of them know what to say.  Connor looks like he's psyching himself up but the words don't come. Hank can initiate.

"So… guess you're off to college soon," he begins.  "Aren't you squeezing six years' worth of work into four?"

Connor nods and Hank lets out a quiet chuckle.

"You always were an overachiever."  He pauses and tries to keep his tone light.  "Sumo's really gonna miss you."

 _Read:_ I'm _gonna miss you_.

By the way Connor's gaze on him softens, he doesn't think he's fooled him.  He humours him though.

"Make sure you give him plenty of walks and treats while I'm gone.  Look after him."

He sounds casual enough but his eyes are so intense that Hank has to look away; clearly they're not talking about his dog any more.  He coughs slightly.

"You all ready to go?"

"When I've not been here, I've been packing.  Elijah said he'd drive me so we're leaving really early in the morning.  Guess he really does care," Connor adds sheepishly.

"Of course he does," Hank is quick to interject.  "Look, I find it hard to get a read on the guy but of course he's proud of you.  You're… you're really something, Connor."

Words seem to fail him again and he nods, taking a tentative step closer to Hank.

"Hank…"

This is the first time he's called him that at work, Hank notes, choosing not to comment.

"I just wanted to say thank you for letting me work with you.  It's-" he flushes here, breaking eye contact briefly "-it's no secret that I wanted to, so thank you for indulging me.  You didn't have to."

Hank blinks slowly.  Does Connor really think he's been humouring him all this time?

"No, thank _you_ , Connor."

He's leaving in the morning; Hank might as well be honest with him.

"I don't know how great I would have done without you these past few years," he starts, looking at his feet.  He folds his arms, trying to think of his next words. "It's... it's probably saved my life to have a friend like you."  He thinks of Cole and how badly he misses him sometimes, how desperate he is to see him again. He decides not to elaborate on that though.  "You've been a real reliable partner on the job too; guess you literally saved my life as well."  
  
Connor looks stricken, stilling at the memory of just a few nights ago.  
  
"Hank..."  
  
"Lemme finish, I don't talk about this stuff very often.  I don't know what you see in me but thanks for being there for me."  
  
Connor steps forwards and opens his mouth like he wants to say exactly what he sees in Hank.  He seems to change his mind though, instead smiling fondly.  
  
"I'll tell you when I get back."  
  
He's well into Hank's personal space now.  He watches Connor's eyes flick down to his mouth and his face flushes, more so when Connor bites down on his own lip. Christ, he remembers a time where Connor would blush just looking at him from across the room and now they're practically chest to chest he isn't batting an eyelid.

  
They're so close he can see Connor's pupils are dilated; he can't tell if it's Connor's or his own heartbeat he can hear, escalated and on edge.  He's still looking at Hank like _that_ , eyes fixated on his lips.   _Fuck, I want this_ , Hank thinks to himself, too caught up in the moment to consider the reasons why he shouldn't.   _C'mon, you're leaving in the morning and can forget about me after that, but at least we'll know what it's like…_  
  
But he doesn't find out what Connor's lips feel like, instead feeling his arms wrap tightly around him.  He stiffens at first, disappointed that Connor isn't kissing him but also immensely relieved, and ultimately content as he brings his arms up to envelope him.  Connor sighs against him, head resting on his shoulder; this feels so _right_.  Thinking back to the other times they've embraced like this - the night of Cole's funeral, the night Hank himself could have died - Hank's pretty sure this is the best time.  At least neither of them are crying this time, though it does vaguely register how much things are gonna suck without Connor.

"I'm gonna miss you so much," Connor murmurs.

  
"You'll be too busy to miss me," Hank chuckles. "Studying, making friends, having the time of your life…"  
  
"Don't think I could possibly be that busy," Connor laughs. What a sap.

Hank holds him a little tighter, neither of them showing signs of letting go.  Connor speaks up after a while.

"Will… will things be different when I come back?"

It must be the first time they've explicitly addressed this, and Hank's surprised he doesn't feel more anxious about it.  He shrugs though, not confident enough to voice it himself but also having no idea how things will be four years from now.  Connor sounds timid as he continues, so quiet Hank almost doesn't hear him.

"There _is_ something, isn't there?  I'm… I'm not wrong?"

He could say no, could set Connor free from him right now, but they’ve been through too much together for him to lie now.  He owes it to Connor to say it out loud.

"You're not wrong," Hank confirms.

At his words, he feels Connor's body release a tension he hadn't even noticed it had been holding.  He feels his own face heat.

"I mean, c'mon, we've been the main office gossip for who knows how long," he grumbles, the word 'we' feeling good on his tongue.

He feels Connor's involuntary grin against his shoulder and tries to hold back his own; it's like he's a freaking teenager again.  Snapping himself out of it, he loosens his grip and steps back, resting his hands on Connor's shoulders.

"Take care of yourself, Hank."

"You too.  Don't hold back; you're gonna have a great time at college and come back even smarter than you are now."

"Thank you."

After some assurances that they'll keep up with each other on social media (Hank never did get around to deleting his Facebook), they break apart and Connor heads home.  For the first time in a long time, Hank feels warm inside, hopeful, like he has something to look forward to and be optimistic about. There's no guarantee things won't be different in a few years but for the moment, he lets himself feel wanted.

***

The next morning when he sees Connor's empty desk, it finally sinks in that he's not going to see him for four years.  He sighs.

***

College isn't like Connor thought it would be.

"Don't believe that bullshit about how you make friends for life at college," Elijah had told him offhandedly a couple of nights before they left.  It contradicts what Hank had told him about his own college experience; he'd met Fowler there and they still seem to be friends. Recalling that Elijah had gone to college when he was fourteen, Connor tries to be more optimistic.  In high school, he wouldn't have spoken to anyone without Cole's encouragement, too shy and quiet, so he decides that for Cole's sake he will reach out to people, be that person for someone else.  
  
His friends aren't all in the same classes as him but their insight into his studies is fascinating; it helps him look at things from different perspectives and learn even more.  Although his timetable is so rammed full he barely gets a moment for himself, he makes time to hang out with his friends, even attends the occasional party, which feels good and like something he's supposed to do at college.

When he does get time alone, time where he isn’t studying or socialising, it’s usually in the minutes before he falls asleep.  In these moments, he thinks back to how it felt when Hank held him before he left, his scent and warmth and finally the confirmation that Connor’s feelings weren’t entirely unreciprocated.  He knows he still wants Hank intensely, but the feeling isn’t clawing away at him anymore, maybe because he barely has the time to think about it, maybe because he’s just no longer worried.

The year flies by and he reflects that he’s a quarter of the way to seeing Hank again.  
  
***

For the duration of their time together, Hank had kept tabs on any developing feelings he had for Connor.  It’d worked well for him; he could get on with his life and revel in the novelty of someone having a crush on him without having to analyse why he liked that so much.  Now he’s being forced to think about his emotions which he usually tries to ignore, it feels so urgent and fuck, why does Connor have to be gone now? He isn't getting any younger and he's been on his own for so long now; this _sucks_.

Over the past few months, his feelings about his last encounter with Connor have deteriorated somewhat, leaving him queasy when he thinks about it.  Maybe it’s because, holy shit, he’s fucking eighteen, what the hell was Hank thinking? That’s how old Cole would have been and that’s the point where Hank steps on this train of thought.

They’ve made good on their promise to keep up with each other over social media, but it’s with a seething bitter jealousy that he watches Connor accept friend requests from Markus and North and Simon and Kara and a flurry of other people.  He turns off his tablet when he sees tagged photos of them with their arms around each other, knowing how stupid and irrational he’s being but unable to bear it anyway. Part of him is genuinely glad Connor's got people he can rely on, regardless of the nature of their relationship - Hank hadn't expected Connor to avoid seeing other people, would have felt far too guilty for holding him back - part of him has become an immature teenager who needs to _stop_.

So he deals with it for the first year.  Inspired by how productive he and Connor had been during their time together as partners, he throws himself into work so he doesn't have to think about anything else.  No one questions it because he's getting the best results he's managed since before Cole passed. He posts pictures of Sumo online and smiles when Connor responds, gets tagged in posts by his colleagues enough that nothing seems out of the ordinary while at the same time being unrepresentative of how he's actually getting on.

The anniversary of Cole's death sneaks up on him and he realises how alone he is.

His colleagues don't know how to talk to him about it; he avoids their pitied glances and barely reacts when Fowler clasps his shoulder and tells him he should take the afternoon off.  He's grateful that Connor finds time to send him a message ( _"Thinking of you x"_ ) but he's so far away, so wrapped up in the excitement of college that Hank can't possibly lean on him right now.

Later in the evening, at home, he sits at his kitchen table with a bottle of Black Lamb in hand. Sumo grunts sleepily in the background and he shakes his head.  
  
"Guess it's just you and me now, huh," he says to the bottle, taking a long pull.  
  
Nights like that become the new normal.  He ambles through days at the office, not turning up until lunchtime some days, staring at Connor's empty desk and waiting to go home so he can drink himself into oblivion again.  On the worst nights, usually when he's thinking about Cole or Connor - his son's dead and the only other light in his life is so far away - or if he gets a call from his ex-wife, he finds himself with his gun in his hands, testing the weight of it.  He loads a single bullet into the chamber, spins it and his arm muscles tense as if to raise it but he never does.

He's pretty far gone, drunk more often than sober these days, but not so far gone that he would actually end his life.  The temptation is there but so is the fear; would he ever have the guts to go through with it? And even though he's amazed he actually believes it, people would care if he went.  There's no need for him to cause any upset. There's also that masochistic hope that thrums constantly under his skin that Connor will still want him when he gets back, that he won't have forgotten their tentative friendship threatening to bloom into something more.  Even if he's changed his mind, they're still friends and Hank has so few of them anyway.

Surely Hank deserves to have something nice by now.  Maybe he'll let himself mope, maybe he'll drink more than he should, but maybe he has something worth waiting for.

He sighs to himself and mentally starts his countdown again.  Two and a half years until Connor's back.

***

"Hey Anderson, isn't your boy back today?"

Hank grits his teeth but his face betrays him by flushing red.  "He's not my _boy_ , Reed."

"No other reason you'd be here on time."

"Hey!"

Reed holds his hands up, not looking particularly sorry but he goes back to looking at his terminal.  Watching their interaction, Ben rolls his eyes and approaches Hank.

"It sure will be nice to have Connor back.  Kid's got a lot of potential. You guys keep in touch while he was away?"

Assessing that he's being genuinely friendly and not fishing for gossip, Hank shrugs.

"Here and there.  He was busy working hard and I didn't wanna get in his way.  Haven't seen him since his last day here."

Chris winces slightly.  "Must have been hard on you both.  Connor adored you."

It's always so strange to hear it from someone else; there's a fluttery feeling in his chest.  He shrugs again though, thinking back to the empty bottles of booze littering his home at the moment.  Maybe he should pick them up some time. He can't remember the last time he felt any motivation to clean up after himself.

There's a commotion, officers standing and looking to the door.  Hank's breath catches in his throat as he sees Connor for the first time in four years.

 _Fuck_.

***

Connor hasn't slept a wink.  Usually, he's good at turning off his thoughts and falls asleep instantly but his brain just didn't co-operate last night.  He's so excited about having pretty much landed his dream job, that all of his hard work has paid off and he's been given this opportunity, but his heart also thuds in his chest when he thinks about finally seeing Hank again.

He's not sure whether or not it's an accident that they haven't seen each other in the past four years.  They only kept in touch sporadically, mostly around anniversaries and birthdays and neither of them brought it up.  It was probably better this way for both of them, working through their separation and getting on with their lives, and while the longing certainly gnawed at Connor, it became more bearable as time went on.

Was this growing up?  Was it falling out of love?  At eighteen he had been so certain that he was in love with Hank, but he feels so much older now; was it just infatuation?  Did they just lean on each other too much while they were grieving? Had Hank really felt the same way?

Thinking like this will get him nowhere, he decides, getting up and out of bed just half an hour before his alarm was due to go off anyway.  Maybe he spends an extra ten minutes preening in front of the mirror but he wants to make a good impression and hide his lack of sleep. He wonders if he looks any different than he did four years ago.  Maybe a little bit broader, a bit taller, but he thinks that's it.

Though he doesn't know how his relationship with Hank has changed yet, he thinks his relationship with Elijah has got better.  They'd never been close enough for Connor to think of him as a father, more of a mentor, but there's less distance between them now.  Connor hadn't come home during his time at college but Elijah had visited a few times.

The man himself is already seated in the kitchen when Connor comes down.

"There's coffee in the pot," he says.  "Looks like you need some."

Connor nods gratefully, unsure if he would have been able to operate the machine for himself in this state.  He _can_ just about manage to pour himself some cereal; Elijah doesn't tend to eat breakfast but Connor thinks that on a day like this, he needs the grounding a good breakfast can give.  As he sits down by Elijah, he notices the rings lining the inside of his half empty coffee cup; he's had several drinks in it and must have been up all night working on something.

"I'll drive you in today," he offers.  "I don't trust public transport and it pays to make a good first impression by being on time."

Connor assesses that though Elijah is probably operating on a similar amount of sleep to him, it's probably still safe for him to be driving.  He nods.

"Thank you."  He takes a deep breath.  "Thank you for everything.  For helping me with college, giving me a place to stay, being supportive.  It really does mean a lot to me."

Over the years, Connor's learned that it's important to express thanks and be kind.  He tries to use his words but he knows Elijah finds it hard to express himself in that way, preferring grand gestures and gifts.  Elijah nods stiffly; Connor knows it's all he's going to get and smiles.

"Well," Elijah announces, "it never hurts to be a little early. Let's go."

Connor finishes his last spoonful of cereal and follows as Elijah stands. They leave the house and get into one of his cars.  
  
Connor has fifteen minutes to calm himself down on the way to the precinct but the caffeine kicks in and it only has him fidgeting more, riled up. Still, as they approach the station he controls his breathing and almost feels normal by the time they pull up outside. He turns to Elijah one last time.  
  
"Thanks for the ride."  
  
"Of course. Go make your big entrance. I know they're all excited to see you."  
  
Connor braces himself and exits the car. He slips into the sociable and friendly persona he'd perfected over the last few years, polite when he introduces himself at reception and is let into the main office.  
  
"Connor! It's you!"  
  
Chris is the first to approach him, clapping him on the shoulder. At his greeting, several other officers look up, some walking towards them.  
  
"Good morning," Connor greets, sparing Chris and the other officers a quick smile but scanning the room for the person he really wants to see.

  
Chris smiles knowingly and then he finally sees Hank. It's a cliché, Connor knows it, but when their eyes meet, it feels like time stops and he and Hank are the only people in this moment. He's only vaguely aware of the officers parting around him as he makes his way to Hank who's wide-eyed and focussed on Connor. Once, he would have been embarrassed to have such attention on him, but now he stands up a little straighter and smiles. As Hank stands, Connor notices he's a little more grey than the last time they met, lines by his eyes perhaps a little bit deeper but still so devastatingly handsome that Connor's breath catches. He's wearing clothes that are a little too big for him, looks almost as tired as Connor feels and it's almost a physical need for Connor to wrap his arms around him, hold him close and breathe him in and finally feel like he's home.  
  
_Definitely wasn't just a mix of teenage infatuation and hormones then_ , Connor thinks, feeling affection bubbling up inside him and almost lightheaded with the relief of it.  
  
However, he's aware that at least one - perhaps well-intentioned - officer has their phone out and is filming their reunion, so he schools his expression into something a bit more appropriate for the workplace. In tandem, Hank's smile turns warm as he takes a step towards Connor.  
  
As he daydreamed about this moment over the years, he'd imagined some sort of overly romantic reunion where they'd throw themselves into each other’s arms, but the reality of it is far tamer. Ridiculously, Hank lifts up his hand to wave but Connor rolls his eyes and steps into his embrace instead. Though stiff at first, it doesn't take Hank long to relax and bring his arms up around Connor; if possible, he fits into Hank's arms even better than he used to.

"Welcome back, Connor," he murmurs.  
  
It feels good to be back; Connor wonders what he was even worried about as he breathes in Hank's familiar scent. He's concerned that he can also smell alcohol but that seems like a question for another time. They break apart shortly, Connor's skin prickling with the sensation of being watched.  
  
"Connor!"  
  
He jumps slightly at the sound and sees Fowler beckoning him over.  
  
"It's good to see you. Just thought we could get the new starter checks over and done with. Why don't you get a coffee then meet me in my office?"  
  
"Of course, Captain."  
  
He turns to Hank. "Let's catch up later. I've missed you."

Emboldened by their restored proximity, Connor clasps Hank's shoulder, smiling meaningfully before he turns to get a coffee from the break room; God knows he needs it.

As he walks away, he hears Hank sit down heavily and mutter under his breath: " _Fuck_."

***

He'd scanned over his qualifications and certificates to Fowler over the past few weeks and they go through them all together this morning.  It's mostly signing forms and booking training and having his photo taken for an ID badge but somehow the day passes before he knows it.

To his surprise, the majority of the week passes in that fashion.

He doesn't get any time alone with Hank and though he doesn't try to push it, he makes a point of saying hi to him every day.  He doesn't bother trying to hide just how often he's checking Hank out and once or twice, to his absolute delight, he sees him blush.  Much as he wants to blurt out a love confession - because he's absolutely certain now, he knows he loves Hank like he knows he's alive and breathing - he wants to give the man some time to adjust.  He regrets that they hadn't kept in touch as much as he would have liked and he doesn't know how Hank's been these past few years, if he's ready for Connor to be all up in his space. He's waited this long, he can wait a bit longer.

He brings Hank a coffee from the machine in the breakroom before settling down at his desk to fill in an occupational health questionnaire.  If his eyes wander to the man opposite him on occasion, he makes no effort to stop it.

"Take a picture; it'll last longer," Hank says, not unkindly; his cheeks are too pink for that.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," Connor replies, but makes a point of letting his gaze linger.

"Gonna be the death of me," he hears Hank mumble, shaking his head.

***

Hank always said Connor was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up but now he's having freaking palpitations.  It's like the young man has made it his mission to be as alluring as possible, vying for Hank’s attention, and he's _got it_.

He's not completely stupid; even with his judgement clouded by self-loathing, Connor isn’t behaving like this around anyone else.  It's all for him. Whether it's sitting on Hank's desk with his legs purposefully spread or staring at him like a lovestruck teen, Hank can't remember the last time he was the focus of such deliberate attention.

There's no denying that Connor's changed since he returned.  Hank swears he's a couple of inches taller, with broader shoulders and more defined muscles; he feels weak when Connor rolls his shirtsleeves above his elbows, tendons in his forearms pulling as he types.  He's grown into his features a bit more, sharper cheekbones and a more confident smile with a demeanour to match.

For all the differences though, some things have stayed the same.  He's still driven, perhaps even moreso now he has the skills to back it up.  He's still kind and thoughtful and hardworking, inquisitive and intelligent, and, though Hank barely dares to fathom it, still hopelessly in love with him.

Hank doesn't know where to go from here.  There's obviously something between them and they're going to have to talk about it eventually, but for now he's content to get to know Connor again and let things play out.

Right now, he's reluctantly at some bar downtown getting celebratory drinks with his colleagues at the end of Connor's first week back.  He wouldn't normally socialise outside of work hours but he makes an exception for this occasion.

Hank's sitting in a booth, arm slung over the back in an attempt to look casual, nursing a measure of Black Lamb.  Over at the bar, Connor's sipping a lurid pink concoction that Chen had bought for him, wincing at its sweetness as she laughs.  He looks more comfortable than Hank feels - Hank supposes he would after four years of living it up at college - but there's an underlying stiffness to his posture.  Every couple of minutes, he'll look to Hank and relax a bit when Hank smiles back, as if grounding him. That's… kinda nice.

He lets his mind wander a bit and so is surprised when Connor approaches, pushing another measure of whisky across the table to him.

"Hey, I should be buying you drinks," he grumbles but then Connor very deliberately lets their fingers touch as he passes the glass and Hank falters.

But Hank's discomfort obviously isn't enough for Connor who then slides into the booth beside him, right underneath his arm, leg pressed up against his.  He makes a point of ignoring his colleagues' knowing smiles; Connor seems completely unfazed. He can't move his arm without making a big deal out of it and it's not like he wants to push Connor away, so he allows it.  Maybe he'll even let his fingers brush Connor's shoulders when he's had this drink.

It's almost strange that Connor can drink legally now and Hank wonders if the alcohol has lowered his inhibitions for him to be so touchy feely, but he permits it as Connor doesn't seem _too_ far gone.

"How was college then?" Ben asks.  "Glad to be back?"

"I am," Connor confirms, shifting slightly against Hank.  "I learned many skills I can apply to my police work and made friends who had interesting perspectives, but ultimately I am pleased to be back home."

"Any _special friends_?" Reed asks, waggling his eyebrows.  Just about everyone rolls their eyes. Hank wonders what the fuck he's doing here anyway.

"No…" he's surprised to hear as Connor presses his leg close to Hank's.  Connor looks up and to the right, thinking. "The opportunity presented itself on a few occasions but I wasn't interested.  I wasn't opposed, I just didn't like anyone in that way. I _don't_ , in fact."

Connor makes a point of addressing everyone but it feels like he's talking to Hank.

"The fuck?" Reed sputters.  "You don't have to like them.  Surrounded by hot young people for four years and you didn’t get any?  What's wrong with you?"

"Hey!" Hank interjects but Ben has spoken at the same time.  He nods at him to continue, relaxing again.

"It's a thing," the other man goes on, nodding knowledgably.  "My niece was telling me about it. Some people don't wanna do the deed unless they're in love with the person.  Seems kinda sensible to me."

Hank chances a glance at Connor beside him; he's rigid and Hank doesn't think he's ever seen his face so flushed.  After a second, he regains some composure.

"I also lacked the time to develop interpersonal relations like that; completing six years' worth of study in four required me to sacrifice some of my free time."

"Pretty damn amazing, I think," Hank says, allowing his hand to rest on Connor's shoulder.

"Yeah," Ben chimes in.  "We're lucky to have him."

"Thank you," Connor says quietly, not making eye contact.  He shifts slightly in his seat, making to stand. "Just going to the bathroom."

Hank watches him leave, sipping his drink.  Reed kicks him under the table.

"Ow!"

It's Chen that speaks up though.

"Jesus fucking Christ, is it possible he wants your dick even more now than he did before?"

"Shush," Hank replies.  No point denying it.

"You should make your move now before he realises he could do better," Reed sneers.  Asshole.

"We're behind you with this," Ben says quietly from beside him.  "Maybe it's not the most conventional thing ever but you guys really work together.  You're effective partners on the field and you make him happy. And you deserve to be happy," he hedges, looking Hank in the eyes.

Hank doesn't keep eye contact but he does let himself listen.  Maybe Ben has a point. He's been so miserable these last few years, miserable since Cole died really.  It's about time he got better, about time he moved on. And much as he doesn't care what people think, wouldn't let anyone come between him and Connor if it came down to it, he's kind of glad his colleagues approve.  They're the closest things he has to friends other than his dog and that's really sad.

Connor returns a few minutes later, raising his eyebrows inquisitively as if asking permission to sit under Hank's arm this time.  He nods, feeling more relaxed than last time when the younger man sits beside him. Maybe he _should_ make his move tonight, Hank ponders, emboldened slightly by the alcohol.  Then again, maybe that's the reason why he _shouldn't_ make his move.  If he's completely honest with himself, which he figures he may as well be as everyone seems to know all his secrets anyway, he's at least a little bit tipsy most of the time these days and that's not good.  He winces a little, knowing he'll need to change. If he lets himself have this, Connor needs to know he's serious.

With that in mind, he downs the rest of his drink, savouring the taste of it on his tongue.

"Can I get you another drink, Lieutenant?" Connor asks.

Hank smirks, turning his head to face him.  "You trying to get me drunk?"

"What if I am?"

The little shit freaking winks at him, leaning in closer.  God, it would be so easy to indulge in this, see how far Connor would go, maybe speed things along a bit.  He feels the stirrings of arousal but he shakes his head and shakes the thought off with it.

"Much appreciated, but I'm cutting down."  His smile softens and he shoots what he hopes is a meaningful look at Connor.

Maybe Connor doesn't know how severe his alcohol addiction has become, but he's perceptive and Reed has mentioned more than once that he stinks of booze.  His returned smile is soft, flirtation faded to fondness. They pass the rest of the night quietly together, Connor refusing more drinks in solidarity with Hank, although he insists Connor has every right to get wasted.

He can't blame alcohol for the way he lets Connor's head rest on his shoulder but maybe he doesn't need an excuse.

***

By next Friday, the tension between them is palpable.  Connor's been partnered with Hank for the time being as they were so successful before he went away, but he's going to rotate through the other detectives for on the job training and experience of different specialties.  He doesn't think he's ever been happier; he's landed his dream career, his firearms license should come through soon, he's respected by his colleagues and he gets to spend time with the man he loves. Whatever's going on between him and Hank at the moment, it's at breaking point and something's got to give.

They're always professional at work, getting by on 'accidental' touches and longer than necessary glances but it isn't enough.  He knows enough about Hank to be pretty sure he won't make the first move but he's happy with that; Hank deserves someone to romance him a bit.

"Hey Connor, you doing anything tonight?"

So much for him making the first move.  His heart stutters in his chest as he looks over his desk at Hank.  His eyes are still fixed on his screen, occasionally clicking on something, trying to look casual but Connor notes a nervous stiffness to his posture.

"I have no plans," he replies.

"Well, the Gears are playing tonight.  Thought maybe we could watch the game together for old times' sake.  Sumo misses you," he adds as if Connor needs any more persuading. "We could order a pizza or--"

"I'll cook," Connor interrupts eagerly.

"Um, sure, if you want.  I've not got much in so we'll have to stop somewhere."

Connor nods, smiling to himself.  Contrary to the stereotype, he'd managed to cook and look after himself quite well while he was away and is eager to prove this to Hank.

The rest of the afternoon should drag with his anticipation, but before he knows it it's time for them to leave.  They stop to buy some ingredients - Connor insists on paying - and he makes them a stir fry for dinner. Their empty dishes sit on the coffee table in front of them; they'd been far too engrossed in the match to even consider sitting at the table.  Connor's only slightly upset about this; much as he would like to sit down for dinner with hank, were they really ready to face each other so frankly like that?

The credits roll and their attention slips from the television.  It's as if Sumo senses the change in atmosphere, removing his head from Connor's lap and padding over to his bed.  With no distractions now, Connor turns to face Hank.

"We need to talk," Connor says, hating the cliché words and their harsh connotations.

To his credit, Hank doesn't wince but exhales heavily.  "Yeah. I think it's time."

Connor blanks, every scenario he's rehearsed slipping from his mind.  At a loss, he takes one of Hank's hands in his, feeling the warmth of it and the rough callouses.  To his surprise, Hank squeezes back, glancing at him gratefully. While he ponders the right words, he looks at their entwined hands, fascinated by how Hank's engulfs his, fingers so much thicker than his, slightly weathered by life.  He keeps his eyes on them, about to start but Hank beats him to it.

"You've changed, Connor," he begins, looking at their hands.  "Don't get me wrong, you're still you, you're still..." He looks around as if trying to physically find the word but it eludes him.  "It's nice. Good. Positive, fuck, I dunno."

Connor squeezes his hand encouragingly, inviting him to continue.  If he's learned anything knowing Hank for this long, it's that he finds it hard to talk about personal matters and so Connor doesn't like to interrupt.  Hank looks at him gratefully.

"You've seen the world a bit, got out there, done your own thing and now you're back here spending time with me for some reason."

"Hank...  You've got to know how I feel about you."  Connor lets the words tumble from his lips before he can think about them, heart in his throat.  "I've not been trying to hide it for a long time and I know you feel the same."

 _Please don't deny it_ , Connor thinks to himself.

Hank sighs and tries to pull his hand away but Connor holds on.  He's wanted this for so long and he's ready to fight, ready to do anything to convince Hank this is okay.  The other man is silent, lost in thought but Connor's patience is unending.

"Look...  I'm not gonna insult you by saying you're young and don't know what you feel; we're both grown-ups here.  But look around, Connor. You gotta have seen all the empty bottles, the mess... I'm kind of a wreck."

He slouches back in his seat, looking to the ceiling.

"I'm a drunk, I'm old, I'm past it; I really haven't handled these past few years well and it _shows_.  And you, Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, you're gorgeous.  I don't know what you see in me."

"Hank-"

"I'm not denying that you do see something, something worth saving-" His voice catches in his throat.  "Something worth caring for. I just- I don't think I deserve it."

Connor feels the prick of tears behind his eyes but Hank carries on.

"And what are people gonna think when they see us?  If they don't think you're my _son_ …"  He nearly chokes on the word and squeezes Connor's hand before continuing.  "Which you're _not_ …  They'll think I'm some dirty old man and you're some kind of gold digger.  I don't wanna hold you back. Couldn't live with myself if I did."

Connor takes some time to mull the words over.

"Well," he begins, "with the way you dress, no one is going to think you're rich."

Hank rolls his eyes but smiles slightly.  Encouraged by this reaction, Connor goes on.

"We've been through so much together.  You've helped me through so much, always believed in me, always inspired me, really.  Whatever happens, you'll always be my friend."

He inhales deeply, willing himself not to shake and for his voice to be strong as he looks into the other man's eyes.

"I _love_ you, Hank."

The weight of words unspoken for years finally  lifts from his shoulders. He slumps in relief while Hank sits up straighter.

"Connor…"

"I want this.  I want you, so much I can barely fathom it.  I tried to want other people, I know you wanted me to, but there was no one like you, Hank.  It's only ever been you."

Hank nods slowly, absently rubbing his thumb on Connor's hand.  He seems lost in thought, staring into space, maybe trying to think of more excuses which Connor mentally prepares to rebut.  When Hank does speak, it's softly.

"You've saved my life twice, you know."

Connor frowns slightly.  He can recall with frightening clarity the night where Hank almost got shot, still wakes up shaking after nightmares about not being able to save him, but that's the only time he can think of.  Hank sees his confusion and elaborates.

"It's been hard since Cole passed.  Guess I was kinda numb for the first few years but seeing you made things better.  I'm not the most popular guy in the world so it was nice to have someone to call a friend.

"I… didn't do so well when you went away.  I won't bore you with the details--" Connor opens his mouth to protest but Hank carries on, "-- _at the moment_ but we can talk about it later.  I trust you. I was so damn miserable, not turning up for work, drinking myself to sleep.  Heck, if I were Fowler I'd have fired me. I just wanted it to be over but whenever I came close to ending it all I thought of you and how you'd be back soon and I couldn't do it."

"Hank."

His throat is tight and a tear rolls down his cheek.

"Hey, none of that," Hank says gruffly.  "I'm still here, aren't I?" He adds reluctantly, "I know we'll have to talk about this sooner or later but not now, okay?"

Connor nods, lips quirking upwards when Hank lifts his spare hand to wipe the tear away.  He smiles in return.

"I'm so gone for you, Connor."

"So _please_ let yourself have this.  You deserve this."

He reaches to Hank almost desperately, cupping his face with his other hand so they mirror each other.  Almost imperceptibly, Hank nods and Connor surges forwards, connecting their lips. It feels like all the tension that has been building between them peaks at this moment and comes crashing down around them.  The press of their lips is instantly addictive and Connor never wants to stop, wants to let Hank kiss him forever. He's never been touched like this before; everything is so new and intense and Connor can't get enough.

He's lost in Hank's lips, lost in his touch, the noises he makes when Connor does something just right and yet he still needs more, needs to be closer.  He doesn't think much of it when he swings a leg over Hank's lap and straddles him, deepening their kiss further.

"Jesus Christ, Connor," Hank murmurs, arms wrapping around Connor's back, his hands alternately clutching in his shirt and stroking up and down, eliciting a shudder every time.

Connor threads his fingers through Hank's hair, desperate to keep him close, for him not to stop kissing Connor.  Hank breaks the kiss but doesn't stray far, instead bringing his lips to Connor's neck and _that_ …  He's never felt anything like it, letting out a breathy moan as Hank's lips trail down the column of his throat.  Involuntarily, his hips grind down and that startles a groan from the other man. Realising that he's practically sitting on Hank's dick, holy _shit_ , he does it again with more purpose and although he can't realistically feel Hank's erection through two layers of denim, his reaction is more than satisfying.

Missing the taste of Hank's lips already, Connor kisses him again, pushing their chests together so they're as close as they can be.  He finds a spot on Hank's neck just where his beard ends and kisses him there now he knows how good it feels.

"You're gonna be the death of me, kid," Hank says, lifting his hips when Connor grinds down.

Connor nods emphatically, trying to kiss him again but Hank stops him.

"We should slow down," he explains, smiling at Connor's indignant pout.

"I want this, Hank.  Please don't stop, I want you so badly."

He takes a moment to notice Hank's flushed face and dilated pupils, proud to be the cause of it, but he lets him push him back slightly.

"I'm not saying we can't.  I'm not even saying that we can't _tonight_.  But I think we should be mature responsible adults and talk about this."  He rolls his eyes at himself but still smiles at Connor.

Slowly, the cloud of lust clears and he just sees Hank, the man he loves and trusts entirely, so he nods in agreement.  
  
"I can't do this with you in my lap."  
  
Connor reluctantly slides off but ensures their thighs are still pressed together.  
  
"First off, I love you, Connor. It's important that you hear me say that."  
  
Connor's chest feels so full as he hears the words and his eyes water as he smiles.  
  
"And I'm not fetishising you losing your virginity or whatever the kids call it these days, but I've been around the block a few times and I wanna do this right. I don't want it to be bad for you."  
  
"It couldn't be bad with you, Hank," Connor interjects but the other man holds up his hand to stop him, slightly flushed.  
  
"I'm flattered that you think that and I'm pretty sure I can show you a good time but you still gotta talk to me. Help me out and tell me what feels good and what doesn't, okay?"  
  
"Okay," he replies eagerly.  
  
Hank rolls his eyes fondly but then his whole demeanour changes with his next words.  
  
"Good. Now, tell me what you want, Connor…"  
  
If they hadn't stopped to talk, Connor thinks he could have come in his pants there and then. He swallows. Hank said to tell him what he wants, so Connor will.  
  
"I want you to fuck me."  
  
***

He is actually going to die.  What the fuck has he done to deserve this beautiful boy – young man, he corrects himself – who wants him so earnestly and completely?  When Connor looks at him like that, biting his lip and leaning into Hank's space, he can't deny him anything, can't deny himself either.

"Let's go then."

He rises from the sofa and Connor grabs his hand as he leads him to the bedroom.  Sumo looks up interestedly so he makes sure to close the door behind him.

Connor throws himself at Hank with such enthusiasm, pressing him against the closed door and kissing him; he doesn't think anyone has ever been so eager to sleep with him.  He can barely think for Connor's lips on his, his hands cupping his face as if he's something precious. He's not been touched like this for years and the yearning hurts and it's too much for him at the moment.  He breaks the kiss, nudging Connor towards the bed. There'll be time for tenderness later but right now his dick is straining uncomfortably in his pants.

Connor immediately starts unbuttoning his shirt, fast and methodical, tossing it aside in an uncharacteristically careless manner. He leans forwards to pull his socks off and Hank finds it ridiculously endearing, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He grabs the hem of his t-shirt, hesitating. Objectively speaking, he’s not a bad looking guy but his self-esteem has taken major blows over the years. He was kind of a stud, he supposes, in his youth, but alcohol abuse and depression haven’t done him any favours. Fuck, did he even shower this morning? Yesterday morning? God, he’s such a mess. Does he really deserve this?  
  
Connor’s perceptive. He stands, taking Hank’s hands into his own from where they’re clutching at his t-shirt. Connor’s face is an open book, eyes so soft, skin flushed, somehow managing to look desperate to be fucked but also deeply lovestruck.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks.  
  
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.” He tries to laugh it off but Connor’s brow furrows and he steps a little closer.  
  
“I want you so much, Hank, please don’t doubt that. But we don’t have to do anything tonight.”  
  
“Like hell we don’t! Fuck, of course I want to do this with you, Connor, just gotta get past my hang-ups."  
  
Connor's going into this thing blind; the least Hank can do is take some initiative. He bites his lip, bracing himself before pulling his hands from Connor's and removing his shirt in one swift motion.  
  
This is definitely the right decision, Connor surging towards him to touch his chest before going to his neck to pull him in for another kiss. Every point of contact is electric, his skin burns with it and it's too much but not enough. Connor's hand strays down his left shoulder to trace the scar left there by that bullet four years ago, long healed but a poignant reminder of the time they almost lost each other.  He pulls back.  
  
"Take off your pants and get on the bed."  
  
Connor shudders and stumbles backwards, fumbling with the zip on his pants. It's one of the least erotic things Hank's seen but he can't help breaking into a grin as he works on his own fly. He groans at the relief of being freed from his jeans, glancing up at Connor's choked off groan; his eyes are fixated on Hank's erection tenting his boxers obscenely.

Seeing Connor splayed out like that, Hank almost forgets about his own needs. He's gorgeous, undeniably, long and lean, defined muscles which will probably fill out more over the course of his career, but that isn't the most alluring thing. It's how open he is, how much he clearly wants Hank, how vulnerable he's made himself. Even as a cocksure teenager, Hank had been nervous his first time and it stirs a soft warmth in his chest that Connor trusts him this much. He's not going to change his mind about this.  
  
Mouth going dry, Hank pushes down his boxers and takes a step forward.  
  
"Hank," Connor whines, staring at Hank's now exposed dick.  
  
"You like what you see?" Hank asks, amused.  
  
"It's bigger than I imagined."  
  
Hank indulges himself. "Oh yeah? You thought about this a lot?" He strokes himself a few times and sees Connor's eyes close as he groans, face flushing.  
  
He wonders if Connor will be bashful but he surprises him with his response.  
  
"All the time. Used to fuck myself while thinking of you, pretending it was your fingers inside me, your dick."  His hand goes to his own dick, just a few strokes to take the edge off. "God, Hank, I need you inside me."

"Don't worry, baby, we'll get there."  The pet name slips out unexpectedly but from Connor's gasp, Hank thinks he doesn't mind too much.  "Gonna make this so good for you," he continues, approaching Connor and leaning over to kiss him again because _fuck_ , he loves this guy.

"Want everything with you," Connor murmurs, clutching at his shoulders to keep them close together.  He could kiss Connor forever, constantly marvelled by the softness of his lips and the gentle mingling of their breath but his back's starting to hurt from leaning over.

He pulls away and wrenches the bedside drawer open.  He rummages around for a while, the time it takes him to find what he's looking for indicative of how long it's been since he's had to use it, but eventually finds some lube that's still in date.  He'd thrown out any condoms he had a few years ago as they'd passed their date.

Connor, ever the detective, senses Hank's hesitation.

"I'm clean," he offers.

Of course he is, but Hank wanted to set a good example.  So much for that.

"Me too."

He sits on the side of the bed next to Connor, fingers tingling with nerves all of a sudden.  Again, it dawns on him that this is really happening, regardless of whether he thinks he deserves it or not but Connor takes some initiative before he can dwell on it, straddling his lap once more.  His hands twine in Hank's hair and he bumps their foreheads together.

"Please touch me."

Nodding dumbly, he encases Connor in his arms, hands strong and warm on his back.  The closeness is a heady rush, Connor's fingers trailing electricity all over him. His hands drop between them and palms both their dicks at the same time, shuddering at the new sensation.  Even though Hank's bigger and broader than Connor, sturdy and immovable, it feels like Connor could break him like this. He holds so much power and Hank knows he would do anything for him, give him exactly what he wants.  He does, dropping his hand down to let his fingers tease Connor's hole. Connor's hand falters between them. He tenses in his arms, trembling slightly, and lets out a gasp when Hank presses a fingertip inside.

“Lie down,” he whispers, relinquishing his grip.

Connor scrambles onto the bed, pupils dilated when he looks at Hank uncapping the lube.  Hank manoeuvres himself so that he's lying on his front, propped up on his elbows between Connor's legs.  He coats two fingers in lube, tracing around Connor's entrance again. His hips cant forward slightly and Hank gives him what he wants, slowly pressing in his index finger.

"Yes," Connor grunts, gripping the sheets around him.

He's so tight, so soft, drawing him in; Hank knows he's going to feel amazing on his cock.

"It's okay, just relax a bit."

Connor nods and Hank feels the muscles loosen as he pumps slowly in and out.

"You good?" Hank asks.

"Yes, please don't stop."

Hank gradually adds a second finger, drawn in by the muscle stretching to accommodate him.

"So thick," Connor moans, canting his hips forward.  "So much better than when it's just me."

"Jeez, kid, I haven't even got my cock in you yet."

"Then get a move on."

_Huh.  Well, okay, if that's what he wants..._

Hank crooks his fingers and very deliberately presses where he thinks Connor's prostate will be; his sharp intake of breath lets Hank know he was right.

"Fuck!  Oh God oh God never felt it like this before."

Hank grins to himself; if there's one thing he likes about himself, it's that he's good at this, always had a talent for making his partners feel good.   He kisses Connor's thighs, feeling his legs tremble, and he wonders if Connor could come like this, cock untouched. He's young, could probably get it up again in no time, but Connor's hand scrambles to Hank's hair to get his attention.

"Don't wanna come without you.  Please fuck me, Hank," he whines, still shifting his hips to take in more of Hank's fingers.

Who's Hank to deny him?  Tonight's not a night for total selflessness, and, he thinks giddily, they'll have plenty of time to explore each other later.

"Sure, Con."

He gives one final press with his fingers before withdrawing them slowly.  Grabbing the lube again, he manoeuvres so he's sitting beside Connor only for him to snatch the lube and position himself over Hank's lap.

"That's how it's gonna be, huh," he says, half smirking at Connor taking control.

The smile drops from his face when Connor pours some lube onto his hand and coats Hank's dick with it.

"Can't wait to take you in my mouth," Connor murmurs almost offhandedly as he strokes up and down.

"Jesus Christ, Connor.”

He can’t believe he’s realistically entertaining the idea that this will happen again.

The image of Connor’s lips stretched around his dick briefly comes to mind, which is, fuck, amazing, but then Connor’s wiping his hand on his own thigh and positioning himself over Hank.  Connor looks at him through his eyelashes, a smile tugging at his lips. He shakes his head, wondering for the millionth time how he got so lucky as to have this gorgeous man with him who’s as gone for him as he is for Connor.  Returning Connor’s smile, he takes his dick in hand and lines it up with Connor’s entrance, waiting for him to lower himself.

He bites his lip as he sinks down, grimacing slightly.  Hank takes both of his hands, threading their fingers.

“Just relax, take your time.”

He nods, descending slowly until he's seated in Hank's lap, taking deep breaths as he consciously relaxes.  God, Hank had forgotten how good this feels, Connor warm and tight around him and doing this for the first time with _Hank_.  The thought alone makes him groan and he reminds himself that he can't move yet, has to let Connor adjust.

"You're doing so well.  Feels amazing to have you on my cock like this."

Connor moans, shifting his hips before nodding once more.  Hank takes this to mean he's at least mostly adjusted and thrusts shallowly.

"O-oh," Connor breathes.  "This is good. I feel so full."

He grinds down on Hank's dick, letting out a gasp before rising up on his knees slightly then sliding back down.  The drag of him inside Connor is mesmerising and he's happy to let him set the pace, get used to something that feels so new.  When he's found a rhythm that works, Hank meets his thrusts with his own, loving Connor's gasps when he hits just the right spot.  He closes his eyes, just revelling in the feeling of being one with the young man who's changing his life for the better. It's dizzying, and he squeezes Connor's hands a little tighter, thrusting deliberately to make him feel good.

"Yes," spills from Connor's lips and Hank looks up at him, seeing tears drip down his cheeks.

"You good?"

He slows slightly, wondering if it's a bit too much.  Connor opens his eyes, red and glistening, but his smile is so bright when he looks at Hank, pulling their clasped hands to his heart.

"Yes.  This is perfect.  Please don't stop."

No matter what he asks, Hank doesn’t think he could ever say no to Connor, not when he’s coming apart like this for him.

“C’mere.”

He untangles their fingers to grip Connor's shoulders and pulls him down to join their lips.  The change in angle makes him gasp into Hank's mouth, hands slamming down to either side of his face to support himself.  Connor’s skin is so hot against his; it feels like he’s burning against every point of contact so he only pulls him closer, moaning as he feels Connor’s dick trapped between their stomachs.  By now, Hank's own cheeks are wet with Connor's tears or maybe they're his own at this point.

Connor moves his mouth from Hank's to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear: "I love you so much."

Yep, definitely his own tears.

He nods desperately against Connor's cheek, unable to get the words out, and pushes him back into a sitting position to get his hand around his dick.

"Hank," Connor whines, thrusting into his fist.

Hank watches the muscles of his stomach strain as he drives his hips down, watches his arms flex as he clenches his fists into thin air.  God, he’s so gorgeous, absolutely wrecked, lips red and full from biting back groans. His cock is hard and hot in Hank's hand and he strokes in time with his thrusts because there's no way he's going to last as long as he thought he would and Connor seems close as well. Hank brackets Connor’s hip with his other hand, pulling him down hard to meet his movements.

“Gonna come for me, Connor?  Gonna come all over yourself?”

That’s what does it for Connor, who shouts out something vaguely resembling Hank’s name as his body goes stiff and still.  It’s enough to send him over the edge, completely lost in Connor and his clenching heat and _love_.  He strokes Connor through his orgasm, milking his dick until there’s nothing left and he winces.   He lies on his side, eyes closed, a few inches of space between the two of them, trying to regulate his breathing and Hank gets it, he does; sometimes you just need a minute to yourself to recuperate.  Hank takes a minute as well; he hasn't fucked like this in forever, bone-weary in the aftermath, completely satiated but mind still buzzing. He turns his head to look at Connor and sees a pleased smile on his lips.

Connor opens his eyes under the weight of Hank's regard and he doesn't feel bad for wanting this as Connor kisses his cheek.  Hank sits up.

"I'll get you a cloth," he explains, making to swing his legs over the side of the bed while he can still be bothered to be courteous but Connor stops him with a hand on his arm.

"You're not going anywhere."

Why does he have to be so damn cute?  Hank shrugs and goes with it.

"It's no fun peeling dried spunk off your skin," he warns, settling back on the bed.

"Don't care, it's yours."

Hank doesn't have a response to that but thinks if he were thirty years younger his dick might be getting hard again.

"Fine, but under the covers."  The air con is cooling the sweat on his skin, making him shiver.

As soon as they're under the sheets together, Connor grabs his arm and situates himself beneath it, nestling his head on Hank's shoulder and throwing his arm across his chest.

"Eager," Hank murmurs, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on his head.

Connor nods, sighing contentedly.

For the next few minutes, only the sounds of each other's breaths fill the silence.

He runs his fingertips over Connor’s back, who shudders with the new sensation.

“Hank?”

“Hmm?”

“Is it… is it always like this?”

He doesn’t have to contemplate for long before shaking his head.

“Nope,” he says offhandedly, wondering if he should leave it at that.  But Connor doesn’t deserve him acting distant, so he elaborates. “I mean, sex is sex, it’s not often bad, but that with you… that was a couple times in a lifetime kinda thing.”

"Huh."  Connor trails his hand over Hank's chest, fingers combing through the hair there.  "Perhaps I should take that as a challenge."

Hank laughs.  "You're gonna kill me."

He pulls Connor closer as he swings a leg over Hank's.  The next few minutes of silence between them are comfortable, Hank smiling at Connor's frequent sighs of contentment, but as he gets time to gather his thoughts, he realises that a few little things are bothering him.

"So," Hank begins uncomfortably.  "I've got to ask… You weren't actually saving yourself for me, were you?"

 _That's ridiculous.  He could have done so much better,_ Hank thinks, but tries to nip that train of thought in the bud.  Connor is silent, contemplating.

"It's a coincidence," he admits.  "I know you wished for me to get out there so I resolved to let it happen if I met someone I was attracted to and liked enough to engage in relations with.  I didn't."

"Okay.  Makes sense.  I guess back in my day there was pressure to get that shit over with."  He waves his free hand vaguely in the air. "People thought there was something wrong with you if you didn't put out before you were twenty.  I'm glad that's different now."

"I am pleased it was you, though…"

Who'd have thought Connor would be this much of a sap?  Hank feels himself blush and tries to snap himself out of it.

"What do you think Cole would have thought of this?" Connor asks, breath skittering across Hank's chest.

Hank tenses slightly.  It's not as if he hasn’t thought about it before, pissed out of his mind on cheap whisky and overwhelmed with the guilt of having feelings for his dead son's best friend.  But he's trying to work through it and will continue to, for Connor's sake if not his own. Forcing himself to relax, he tries to clear his mind and consider Connor's question.

"I hope he wouldn't be too weirded out, I guess."

Connor nods against his chest, hair brushing against his jaw.  "I believe he would see the humorous side. I would not have put it past him to make a 'daddy' joke--"

"Please don't."

Connor chuckles but then adopts a more serious tone.  "He loved you very much, Hank, and wanted you to be happy.  I think he knew I had a crush on you as well, so perhaps he wouldn't have been as surprised as you'd think."

"Huh.  God, this is so fuckin' weird."

"Not much about us is conventional.  It's okay."

Hank nods, supposing it is. To his surprise, it doesn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would to talk about Cole, and they exchange anecdotes for another few minutes.

Connor yawns and it strikes Hank in that moment how absolutely drained he is, both physically and mentally.

"I'm about ready to call it a night."

"Me too."

It's been a big night for Connor, hell, for him too.  God knows what kinds of fucked up dreams he's going to have while his brain deals with this.  As Connor secures himself in his arms to sleep for the second time ever though, he finds he doesn't mind.  Maybe he'll finally start feeling like a person again soon. He's not an idiot; he knows falling in love won't solve all his problems, that it could, in fact, add to his problems, but he's hopeful now.  If Connor loves him, maybe he can learn to love himself at least a little bit, try to change for the better. He owes it not just to Connor and his friends, but to Cole as well. Cole wanted him to be happy, didn't he?

He'll be damned if he isn't going to try his hardest.

He squeezes Connor a little bit tighter, resolving to be the best he can be for the young man beside him.  Connor leans up to press a final chaste kiss to his lips before resettling himself. Hank reaches for the bedside lamp and the room darkens.

"Night, Connor."

"Good night, Hank."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [You're The Best Thing I've Seen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15184874) by [j_gabrielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle)
> 
> Hit me up on Twitter [@KillEleanorB](https://twitter.com/KillEleanorB) and Tumblr [@fanniballecter](http://fanniballecter.tumblr.com/) if you want!


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